


The Makings Of Greatness

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Space, BAMF Simon Lewis, BAMF everyone tbh, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, M/M, Slow Build, Sort Of, Space Husbands, Space Pirates, Strangers to Lovers, Tiny Matchmaking Robots, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: “I said I didn’t fight,” Simon says quietly.He reaches for the dagger he knows is tucked into a sheath at Jace’s ankle, turning and throwing it with deadly accuracy. It arcs across the cave, burying itself in the hinge between the droid’s neck and shoulder, burrowing deep into the wires and circuits. Smoke pours from the wound, and the droid shudders once before going still, keeling over and falling to the floor with a resounding crash.Simon raises his sword as the rest of the droids turn as one to look at him. “I never said Icouldn’tfight.”





	1. Sing

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based on Treasure Planet, and a little on Sinbad, but mostly it's my own stuff. I'll add more pairings and relationships and tags as I go. There should be five chapters of this. I've been building this world in my head for over a year now, and I finally found a fandom it actually fits in, considering it was all original characters before. I really hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Title is from Treasure Planet. I don't own anything. Rated T for swearing and minor violence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days into their journey, and Simon is ready to steal a lifeboat and sail back to the Lunar Quadrant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some violence and swearing, but not much. A near-drowning, but not quite. Absolutely nobody dies.

The blackness of space is vast and enveloping. Simon steers his ship towards a strip of bright, artificial light, skirting around the edge of the Harbour. He doesn’t know the patrol routes of the CopBots in this area, so he moves slowly and stays alert, easing the engine down a gear as he comes closer to the edge of the wooden deck. He’s not entirely sure how to get from the ship to the deck, and he’s about to risk calling for help when a man moves into view. 

The man digs around in his jacket and produces a vibrating Tele-Communicator. A shaky hologram of a bearded man appears as he taps away, and a deep, disapproving voice crackles through the shoddy connection. Simon hunkers down a little, fists gripping the edge of the joystick, and listens. 

“Alec,” the voice says smoothly. “How nice to hear from you. And here I thought you were safely tucked up in bed at the family home. So, imagine my surprise, when out of nowhere, I receive a call from General Cress, my old commander in chief.” 

Alec winces. “Yeah? What did he want?” 

“Oh, this and that,” the voice says, his form flickering. The holograms are finnicky things at the best of times, let alone when the Tele-Communicator is an older model. If Simon had to hazard a guess, he would say that the Tele-communicator in Alec’s hands is about ten years old, which is well past its expiration date. It’s due for an upgrade, at the very least. 

“Of course, we exchanged the usual boring chit-chat, but mostly, he wanted to inform me that my son, the great Alec Lightwood, was currently in a holding cell at Helmsplitter Harbour, after being apprehended for trying to punch a Guard in the face.” 

Simon knows he shouldn’t be listening, but he’s always been a curious person. Nosy, some would say. Simon prefers curious. He inches the ship closer, busying himself with a reel of rope tucked under the control board, all while keeping his ears pricked. 

“He wouldn’t let me through the damn terminal without an access pass,” Alec mutters. “Do I look like the type of person who has an access pass?”

“You look like a juvenile delinquent, which is exactly what you are.”

“I’ll be twenty-one soon, there’s nothing juvenile about me.”

“Don’t talk back to me, Alec. I raised you better than that. Pray tell, what exactly are you doing in a holding cell in Helmsplitter Harbour?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not there anymore,” Alec says, eyeing a little winged robot as it flits past him. “I broke out.”

There is a deep sigh from the Tele-Communicator, and then the connection clicks off. Alec looks surprised and then resigned, and pockets the device, glancing around him, obviously looking for something. He doesn’t look like a bad sort. A bit intimidating, with all that intense focus, and the fact that he apparently punched a Guard in the face, but not necessarily bad. Maybe that’s why Simon decides to speak up. 

“Hey, buddy.” 

Alec stiffens, and then turns belatedly when he realises Simon is talking to him. His mouth drops open and he stands, blinking in confusion at Simon. Simon supposes he must paint a pretty astounding picture, considering he’s standing in a small, orange One-person ship, floating in the middle of space, holding a rope with a loop at the end, and steadfastly ignoring the heat at his back.

“Help me put this out?” 

“It’s on fire,” Alec says, shocked. 

The ship is indeed on fire, flames crackling merrily as it eats up the only seat. The scent of melting plastic fills the air, and Simon fidgets. 

“Yeah, it is,” Simon says. He tosses the rope with a frown on his face, concentrating hard. It wraps around the nearest pylon and he whoops in triumph. He turns to look at Alec, grinning. “Mind giving me a hand?”

Alec jolts into action, casting desperately around in search of water. Simon watches as he finds a nearby fire point and ducks towards the bucket that hangs there. The lid slides off easily beneath his hands and he quickly passes it to Simon, who accepts it with a cheerful salute. Simon douses the flames, soaking the seat, and then Alec starts to pull the ship in by the rope. 

“Thanks,” Simon says, as the ship bumps against the edge of the dock. “Saved my tail, there.” 

He digs around under the wrecked seat and pulls out a large backpack, pulling it over his shoulders as he disembarks. He unties the rope and kicks the nose of the ship. They stand in silence, watching as the ship floats off into space, still smouldering slightly.

He turns then, and offers a hand. “Name’s Simon Lewis, you?”

Simon readjusts the strap on his bag and squints up at the man in front of him. He’s a lot taller than Simon, with very dark hair and warm eyes, and he’s looking at Simon like he just laid an egg. Which, actually, isn’t that uncommon around these parts – a lot of the aliens Simon has met have egg-laying abilities, but he would never be so undignified as to do it in public, if he _did_ have egg-laying abilities. 

“Alec Lightwood,” Alec says, utterly bewildered. “Any particular reason why we just sent your previously burning ship off into deep space? Or was that all a vivid hallucination?” 

Simon grins rather sheepishly and fiddles with his goggles. They’re large and round, with brown leather straps to hold them in place on top of his head. Tufts of dark hair stick up all over the place, trapped by the goggles. He can’t see very well without them, but pushing them down gives him a rather owlish look, and he’d rather not be mistaken for an Owlen on this Harbour, not when peace talks between them are so stiff at the moment. 

“I got a little chilly on the flight in,” Simon says casually, shrugging. Alec narrows his eyes are the obvious lie. “And then I got a little lost, so I steered over here, but it’s illegal to dock in this area without Flight Papers, which I seem to have misplaced. I think they’re in the bottom of my bag.”

Simon doesn’t actually _have_ Flight Papers to misplace. He has fake Flight Papers for the purpose of zipping around the Asteroid Belt, just to keep up appearances, but none that would hold up in court. 

Something gives a little whistle from inside Simon’s bag, and Alec eyes it curiously. Simon blanches, and flails around to zip the lid of his bag up, but it’s too late; a small sphere pops out of the top of the bag and zooms towards Alec, hovering a few inches in front of him. It’s the colour of dirty gold coins, with clunky bronze wings attached to the side and one single lens staring out at Alec, who jerks back a little as the thing inches closer, curiously. 

“That’s Nero,” Simon says, with a sheepish grin. “I was going to name him R2-D2, but it’s a bit of a mouthful. He’s my best buddy. I made him myself. He’s also _not_ supposed to leave the bag until we get on board, because he’s tiny and curious and absolutely will get lost.” 

Nero droops a little, his wings fluttering anxiously with little creaky noises. 

“He’s very… animated,” Alec grunts, as Nero circles his head like a lively halo. He comes back to rest on Simon’s shoulder and his wings fold up until they’re almost invisible, until he looks like a little golden ball, balancing on Simon’s jacket. Simon pets him affectionately. 

“He’s a little shit,” Simon says brightly. “I wouldn’t be without him.”

Alec grunts again, and then turns away. There’s a slightly awkward silence wherein Alec scans the Harbour and Simon shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, and then he says, “So, where are you headed? Which dock, I mean?” 

“This one,” Alec replies distractedly. “I’m looking for the Pandemonium. My sister’s already there.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really,” Alec snaps. “Got a problem with that?” 

“Woah, take it easy big guy,” Simon holds both hands up in surrender. “I haven’t got a problem with anything. I was just asking because I’m on that ship too.” 

Alec groans and turns to look at him. Simon grins, and Nero tilts his head and beeps questioningly. He can feel Sphynx shifting around in the backpack, although technically that shouldn’t be possible, considering Simon powered him down before he left the Asteroid Belt. Alec eyes him once more and then goes back to scanning the dock. 

Simon points a little nervously. “Hey, genius, it’s right over there.”

Alec follows his finger to find a large silver ship perched on the edge of the dock.

It’s the size of three houses stacked on top of each other, and absurdly tall and narrow for a ship, like a shining crescent moon. Simon supposes the bulk of it is where the crew and passengers sleep, or where the cargo is stored, but it still seems strange. Old-fashioned sails have been swapped out for high-tech sails, each one tinted blue and lined with small boosters. The whole thing gleams silver in the light from the nearby stars. 

“Huh,” Alec says, and hefts his bag up, stomping through the crowds. Simon jolts in surprise at the sudden movement, and then scrambles to follow him. 

The Harbour is packed with people. Simon winds his way through the over-dressed Officials, the ladies in their silk gowns that sweep the floor, the men in their finery, watches and gauntlets glinting at their wrists. A CopBot rolls by on three wheels; the third is a little wobbly. Simon could fix it in a fine second, if he fancied, and if he had his toolbelt, and if he had soft spot for the CopBot’s. As it is, his toolbelt is currently buried deep in his bag, and he definitely doesn’t have a soft spot for the CopBot’s. 

The Harbour resembles a ramshackle market. The scent of asteroid dust mixes with spilled millflower mulch and turns his stomach. Sellers yell from the corners and the fierce chatter of sailors bartering passageway fills his ears. Crates are piled up on the edges of each dock, full of rich spices and cloth and medicine. A few small crowds have gathered around some of the taller cages, where creaking, squawking creatures peek out from behind metal bars. Simon shakes his head and ducks his chin. He’s had bad experiences with a Chortler, the creature in the nearest cage. Its red eyes are vividly familiar, although Simon remembers them staring at him from behind the bars of a jail cell. 

It’s a constant mass of people and noise, a thick carpet of moving feet. Simon feels like he’s trapped in a dance that he doesn’t know the steps to, and it makes him antsy, makes him move faster to keep up with Alec. 

They reach the gangplank without incident, although Simon does almost elbow a pregnant alien in the stomach, and come to a stop at the bottom of the walkway. There are people walking up and down, carrying crates filled with spices and scarves and all sorts of cargo. Alec catches a red-headed girl that looks about Simon’s age by the elbow and yanks her around none-too-gently, catching her by the shoulder before she can careen into the side of the railing. 

“Hey!” shouts the girl indignantly. “Watch where you’re going!” 

Alec glowers at her. “I grabbed you on purpose. Is this the Pandemonium?” 

The girl scowls at him. “Well maybe you should try talking first before you grab random strangers. And yeah, it is. Why? Do you need to speak to the Captain?” 

“Sort of,” Simon says brightly, butting in before Alec can speak. “I’m Simon, and this is Alec. We’re sorry about the whole grabbing you thing. Who are you?” 

The girl seems to grow less suspicious in the face of Simon’s rambling. She softens slightly, casting a wary glance at Alec before she says, “Clary Fray. I have to get these crates on board before the Captain comes looking for the rest of the Crew. Who did you need to speak with?” 

“No, we _are_ part of the Crew,” Alec says impatiently. 

“So, I guess we do need to speak with the Captain,” Simon adds, when Clary simply stands there looking shocked. Alec shoulders past her onto the ship, stalking up the gangplank. Simon utters an apology before racing after him, and he’s not entirely sure why he’s decided to stick to Alec, but it’s better than wandering around alone. 

They’ve barely set foot on the ship when a girl in a red jacket and a long braid comes sprinting towards them. Simon neatly sidesteps the oncoming collision, and she barrels into Alec, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and clinging for dear life, laughing loudly when he squeezes her back, swinging her slightly from side to side. Alec looks completely different when he smiles, and Simon leans back against the railing and fiddles with one of Nero’s wings, an old, nervous habit. 

“Now, that’s a sight I could get used to.” 

They all turn at the new voice, and Alec sets the girl down. 

“Alec, this is Captain Bane, the man in charge around here,” says the girl. “Magnus, this is my brother, Alec Lightwood. He signed on to be one of your Cabin Boys.”

“I remember reading your portfolio,” Magnus says. “Frankly, I’m offended that it didn’t include a picture, or I would have hired you an awful lot sooner.”

Magnus is only a little bit taller than Simon, dripping with jewellery and dressed in expensive clothes. His jacket alone looks like it costs more than Simon could ever make in his life. He holds out a hand that shimmers with rings, and Alec takes it in a daze, shaking it lightly. Simon watches in surprise as a faint blush works its way across Alec’s cheeks when Magnus smirks at him. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Alec says politely, clearing his throat. “I was just saying hello to Izzy before I came to report to you. I haven’t seen my sister in a while.” 

“And whose fault is that?” Izzy punches him gently in the shoulder, and then tugs on his arm to lead him towards the opposite end of the ship, leaving Simon standing on the ship by himself as Magnus wanders down the gangplank. 

“Start as you mean to go on, hey, Nero?” Simon says, with a fake grin to brighten himself up. Nero nuzzles against the side of his face. 

“Do you often talk to yourself?”

Simon jerks as a boy comes towards him, twirling a dagger in his hands. He looks very neat, and handsome, although the blank expression on his face as he surveys Simon doesn’t do him any favours. Simon resists the urge to curl into a ball and hide from the critical gaze. 

“I’m not talking to myself,” Simon says. “I’m talking to Nero. Who are you?”

He lifts the little droid off his shoulder, and Nero perks up, wings fluttering in excitement. 

“Jace,” he says, and lifts an eyebrow as Nero zooms towards him. Simon has barely a second to think that perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to let Nero loose just yet, before the droid collides with Jace’s head and tangles himself in his hair, wrapping the strands around thin wings. Simon lets out a strangled noise of horror as Jace jerks back, dagger falling to the floor as he raises his hands to rip Nero off his head. 

“Wait!” Simon yells, and Jace freezes. His bright, mismatched eyes fix on Simon with murderous intent, but Simon ignores him. He doesn’t want Jace’s hands all over his fragile little droid. He strides closer until his face is inches away from Jace’s, and then he leans up on tip-toes and coos gently, coaxing Nero free with little encouraging noises and babbling sentences. Jace stands there, frozen, until Nero eventually detangles himself sulkily, returning to his perch on Simon’s shoulder, which is when Simon realises quite how close he is to Jace. 

It’s also when he realises how pretty Jace’s eyes are. 

“Uh, hi,” Simon mutters, and Jace quirks an eyebrow. His hair is sticking up all over the place from Nero’s rummaging, and he doesn’t look very impressed. 

“Hey there,” Jace says drily. “Are you going to move any time soon?” 

Simon immediately trips backwards, reaching up to fiddle awkwardly with his goggles, just as Magnus comes back up the gangplank, and Alec and Izzy come towards Jace. Jace tears his gaze away from Simon and stiffens in shock. Alec has a dazed, disbelieving look in his eye as he stares at Jace, and within a matter of seconds, the both of them are hugging fiercely. Simon watches them in surprise – there’s obviously some history there, but it’s none of Simon’s business, and he’s supposed to be keeping his head down – and catches Izzy’s amused smirk. He coughs and turns away, finding Magnus, who looks him up and down. 

“Engine boy, correct?” Magnus says. 

Simon nods jerkily. “Yeah, I guess that’s me.” 

Magnus snaps his fingers. “Perfect. Allow me to show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

*

Three days into their journey, and Simon is ready to steal a lifeboat and sail back to the Lunar Quadrant. Or maybe sail somewhere completely different, somewhere he can start afresh. It’s not like there’s anything waiting for him on the asteroid belt – his old forge has probably been taken over by now, and there sure as hell isn’t anything keeping him on the ship, barring the destination. 

It’s pretty clear that nobody on the ship trusts each other. Magnus Bane keeps his distance from all of them, aloof and elegant, watching them carefully. Clary, the red-headed girl from the gangplank, spends most of her time sitting on railings, swinging her feet as she sketches the stars and the surrounding cosmos. She strikes up a tentative friendship with Maia, the girl who spends most of her time perched on top of the mast, watching everything through a dainty telescope. Alec, Izzy and Jace seem to be the only ones who actually like each other, sticking close and talking and laughing. There’s definitely something there, between the three of them, but nobody else seems to know what it is. 

Simon alternates between long, awkward silences during meals, and jokes and references that fall flat during the day. Clary laughs a few times, but Simon can’t tell if it’s out of pity or genuine kindness. Maia shoots him odd looks, like she doesn’t quite understand him, and Izzy likes to smirk at him while she cuts into her food. Jace and Alec are usually too busy with each other to take any notice of him, but the rare times that Jace pays attention, he does so with a scowl on his face. 

Luckily, Simon’s job keeps him busy. He barely comes up out of the engine room after the third day, where he spends most of his time throwing his tools at the engine and getting covered in dirt and oil. He comes up for morning rollcall, where Magnus usually assigns obscure and strange roles to the crew while updating them on their status. They have to travel through three quadrants to get to where they want to be, which means a lot of stops have to be made along the way, and Jace is the Navigation Expert and Tactician, so he’s in charge of plotting the course. 

Their first stop is a Trading Port a few stars away from the Harbour. 

Simon disembarks with the rest of the crew, helping Clary and Alec to lug the crates down the gangplank. Most of the contents will be sold to the Traders over the course of the next few hours, and then Magnus will decide which wares to buy, to sell on at the next port. 

Maia stays on the ship with Izzy, and Magnus strolls between the stalls, Alec attached to his hip. Jace is nowhere to be found, and Clary is in charge of their stalls. Simon finds himself with a few hours to spare and nothing to occupy himself with. The stalls are just setting up, the sky is a dull purple colour, and this area of town, while busy, is kind of boring. 

Simon wanders a little further from the Port, dipping in between the streets and following the winding roads. It’s a full-blown town, full of well-developed buildings, but it looks a little run-down, a little dilapidated. He buys a pound of candied violets in a little store near the edge of a row of shops, and sucks on one as he reaches the end of the row. 

A glint in a window catches his eye, and he side-steps out of a passing woman’s way, reading the signs in the window of a tall, narrow store. He doesn’t notice the woman’s nervous gaze, or the blackened ground outside of the door, as though the ground has been recently scorched. 

Simon isn’t usually so careless, but he’s bored, and the place doesn’t feel dangerous. He shrugs, and pushes open the door. It opens soundlessly; there’s no chime of a bell. Simon scuffs his feet against the straw mat and ventures further in, taking in the dried herbs and plants hanging from the ceiling, the racks of strange meats and the vials full of questionable things. Now that’s inside, he gets something of an eerie feeling from the place, and the silence is unnerving. 

He turns to leave, swallowing the last of his candy, when two figures loom out of the darkness at the back of the shop, stalking towards him. They appear like ghosts, slim and soundless, shrouded completely in shadows. 

He barely has time to open his mouth before the first fist hits him. 

Simon yelps, hands coming up to cover his head. His head throbs painfully, and he staggers back into a wall of jars. Something cracks, and some sort of gelatinous substance leaks out of the glass and onto the floor, pooling at Simon’s feet. He ducks when the next punch flies at him, but slips at the last moment on the jelly, landing flat on his back. He groans loudly, blinking his eyes open as he’s hauled to his feet and punched squarely in the stomach. Winded, Simon gasps, and struggles to breathe. 

He needs to fight back. 

He gets his feet under him and readies his hands to break the complicated hold on his upper body, when he catches sight of a familiar face in the window, and inwardly groans. Jace is there, watching him with alarm on his face, and if he sees Simon break out of this, if he sees him fight back, then his cover is blown. 

He doubles over as another punch takes him by surprise. He can’t fight back now, not properly, but maybe he can still escape. 

“Stop. This one might be worth something.”

The voice halts the two men holding him from their next hit. 

A cyclops slips through a beaded curtain. It has long, black hair and its skin is milk-white, with an iridescent sheen. It only has one eye, right in the centre of its forehead, and it blinks slowly at Simon, taking him in. Simon tries to writhe out of the firm hold he’s in, but the two guys simply tighten their bruising grip. He’s about to kick out when they yank him over to the cyclops, still struggling, and force him onto his knees in front of it. 

“What do we have here? You’re a little far from home, dear one.”

“Took a wrong turn,” Simon pants. “But as hospitable as your friends have been, I think I’ll have to take my leave.”

The cyclops laughs softly. The sound sends a shudder down Simon’s spine. He grimaces as the cyclops drifts closer, moving on silent feet, its gauzy cloak fluttering around its bare ankles. They look delicate, breakable, but everything about the cyclops oozes power, confidence. 

“Interesting.” Its gaze sharpens as it examines Simon’s face. “You look familiar.”

It leans down and stares intently into Simon’s eyes, acrid breath fanning across his face. Simon swallows thickly and looks away. He looks different now, older, so there’s no way this thing will recognise him.

“You never should have flown your nest, little bird.” 

_Little bird._

The cyclops runs a finger down Simon’s cheek, the blunt edge of a nail digging roughly into his skin. 

“See if you can make him cry,” it murmurs, and Simon stiffens, fear lurching up his throat. There’s no way it can know… 

The window shatters with an ear-splitting crash as Jace throws a brick through it, pieces of glass flying everywhere. The brick slams into the side of the first figure’s face, sending him tumbling backwards onto the floor. Simon takes advantage of the chaos to jam the heel of his hand into the knee close to his face, hearing a satisfying crunch as the bones snap sideways. He scrambles up from the floor and sprints to the door. He glances over his shoulder once, to find the cyclops watching him intensely, mouth curved up into a curious, hungry smile. 

He shudders again and barrels out of the shop, skidding to a stop in front of Jace. Jace grabs the back of his shirt and hauls him away from the shop, both of them running at full-pelt. They only slow down when the Trading Port is back in sight, the mish-mash of markets visible through a gap at the end of the alleyway. 

Simon stumbles towards it like a drunk man, panting slightly. “What are you doing here? How did you know where I was?”

“I was following you,” Jace snaps, yanking Simon along by the back of his neck. He feels like a kitten, getting tugged around like this, and he snarls, batting Jace’s hands away. His stomach aches and his eye feels sore and heavy, his skin hot where the hit landed. 

“Why were you following me?”

Jace ignores him, reaching up to brush his thumb beneath Simon’s eye. “That’s going to bruise. We need to get back and put a salve on it. I think I have some in my cabin.” 

Simon stands stock-still at the unexpected touch. It’s the first time Jace has ever touched him, and it leaves a burn behind on his skin that has nothing to do with the sting of a fist. Jace is the first to jerk away, shoving his hands in his pockets as though he’s afraid of what he might do if they were loose, and setting a fast pace back through the town. Simon can see the ship in the distance, and he glances behind him at the darkened street, before hurrying to catch up with Jace. 

“So, surely we need to do something about that guy,” Simon says, after clearing his throat. “We can’t just let him get away with whatever he’s been doing.”

“We’ll tell Magnus,” Jace says gruffly, stalking forwards. “He’s Captain of the ship, which means he has some measure of authority and respect. He can alert the right people, and they can take care of it. Now, come on. We should get out of here before you manage to annoy anyone else into hitting you.”

Simon isn’t sure if it’s a threat or not, so he grinds his teeth together and keeps quiet. He wants Sphynx, or Nero, but mostly he’s glad they weren’t with him. He’s pretty sure those idiots would have just smashed them to pieces on sight, rather than trying to trade them. 

An uneasy feeling in his gut tells him that the cyclops wasn’t going to trade him. Something tells him that the cyclops knew him, or at least recognised him. He knows there were posters of him around, but he didn’t think the search would extend this far. It’s possible, Simon thinks, that as he nears his eighteenth birthday, the search has kicked up a notch. But if that’s the case, then he’s going to need to be extra careful when he leaves the ship. 

Jace glances back at him, his gaze piercing, and Simon pulls himself from his thoughts. 

Yeah, he’s definitely going to need to be extra careful. 

*

Maia slides down the length of the mast and props her hip up against it, eyeing him critically. Simon fidgets in place. He’s holding some kind of pike that was shoved in his hand, and Maia slips forward and corrects his grip. He’d feel much better with a sword in his hand, or a crossbow, or even a hammer, but he can work with this. Or, well, he could work with this, if he were literally anywhere else, surrounded by actual enemies that needed fighting, rather than shipmates who want to see him fall on his face. 

He knows, if he gets into some serious shit, he’s going to have to fight back, regardless of who’s watching. But it’s just one another piece in the puzzle that makes up Simon Lewis, and he’d rather not give the game away so soon. 

“Show me a few moves,” Maia says, gesturing at the big open space in the middle of the main deck. “I want to see what we’re working with.” 

“I don’t fight,” Simon says. 

“That much is obvious,” Jace mutters, and Simon cuts him a glare. 

“You need to learn,” Maia says. “After that business with the cyclops at the Trading Port, you’re lucky to be alive.” 

Simon very kindly doesn’t tell her that luck had nothing to do with it. If Jace hadn’t come along, Simon could have gotten out of there by himself, and nobody would have been any the wiser that he almost stumbled into some kind of human trading system. 

“You need to be able to fight if you want to get through this journey alive,” Alec says gravely. Izzy rolls her eyes and nudges her brother. 

“Dramatic, much? Look, Lewis, just show us what you can do and let Maia work from there.”

Simon knows this is going to be painfully humiliating, but he swings the pike anyway, making sure to keep his swipes big and clumsy. He hunches his shoulders and keeps his stance stiff and unyielding. He does everything he’s not supposed to do, and he can see Alec smirking out of the corner of his eye. Clary covers her mouth with her hand, hiding a grin. He can see Jace watching with a blank face, and somehow that’s worse than if he was openly laughing. 

“Sloppy,” Maia says, tapping the flat of her spatha against her leg. “You telegraph every move you make, and then you move like a frog that’s recently been decapitated.”

Simon grits his teeth and doesn’t respond. He can do this, he tells himself. He can play the fool. It’s important, and more than that, it’s necessary. He doesn’t know anyone on this ship, and any one of them could give him up if they found out who he was. This, the clumsy idiot who can’t swing a sword to save his life, is all part of the act, all part of his new identity. This will save his life. 

“Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me,” Maia says, and she lunges forward. 

*

Simon is bruised and sore when he finally collapses onto his bed that night. Sphynx wheels towards him when Simon groans, clicking his pincer worriedly. He’s only got the one pincer now. Simon had removed the other one from his little triangular body when he got it caught in one of the hatches and almost ripped it clean off. Simon is still stewing over his dislike of the cabin boy who just laughed at the little squeaks coming from the hatch. He doesn’t know exactly who it was because he was too busy trying to wrestle Sphynx free, but if he ever finds him, he’s going to introduce him to the emergency escape hatch. 

Sphynx is a lot bulkier than Nero, at least four times the size. He’s Simon’s second robot, but he loves them both the same. He’s shaped roughly like a little tank, only more triangular, and he has two square eyes. His wheels squeak when he moves closer, and Simon reminds himself that they need oiling soon. 

“I’m good, buddy, don’t worry about me,” Simon says, flailing an arm over the side of his cot to pat the droid’s head. Nero is still out, zipping around the ship and taking inventory, making a map in his head of all the little hidey-holes and nooks and crannies. If there’s a way out, a way in, a place to hide, Nero will find it. 

“Just a little sore,” Simon reassures him, when Sphynx keeps beeping. “And covered in bruises, jeez, it’s like they were trying to kill me.”

Maia had started by teaching Simon the basics, and then Izzy had stepped in with her whip, and things get a little fuzzy after that. 

“It was more exhausting trying not to fight back properly than taking the hits,” Simon murmurs. “Look, you keep an eye on the engine, alright? I’m going to catch up on some sleep. Wake me if anything goes wrong.” 

*

His promise to himself to be extra careful goes out the window a few days later. 

Sleeping in bunkers is common place for Simon these days, but sleeping in engine rooms is new. His old bunker, in the Asteroid Belt, deep in the Lunar Quadrant, had been little more than a box with a bed that pulled out from the wall. He didn’t need much more room than that, but space to breathe would have been nice, space to fix things and tinker and work on Sphynx and Nero. Space to fill with belongings that he didn’t have. 

The engine room in the Pandemonium is a bit bigger than his old bunker. It’s right down in the core of the ship, accessible by a hatch that leads down from the main deck. There’s a workbench along one wall and a rolling board for him to lie on, and the space around his cot is littered with cogs and springs and old batteries. Sphynx often picks bits up with his pincers and moves them, secreting them away in the hidey-hole beneath Simon’s cot that he isn’t supposed to know about. 

The only problem with the engine room is that it’s hot. The engine itself is like a beating heart, caged behind bars, the amber metal panels peering through into Simon’s room. The heat that comes off it is intense, like pure fire, warming the room until the air is thick and humid. 

The problem with that is that it doesn’t bother Simon. His secret keeps him safe from fire. 

And the problem with _that_ , is that other people notice. 

Jace scrunches up his face as he comes down the ladder into the engine room. He’s wearing his usual black jacket, but Simon can see the muscles in his shoulders tense up, like he wants to take it off as the heat hits him. Simon is flat on his back on the rolling board, whistling between his teeth as he fiddles with a circuit board and a screwdriver. He cranes his neck to glance at Jace. 

“Can I help you?”

“How can you stand it down here?” Jace asks, rolling his shoulders. Sweat is beginning to bead at his temples. 

Simon rolls forward and props himself up on his elbows. He’s pretty sure he looks like a mess; his trousers are loose and too low on his hips, and there’s dirt and sweat all over his face, and his white shirt has rucked up at some point. He had abandoned his boots by the hatch on the way in, and his bare feet are a little cold now. 

Jace looks put together. He always looks put together. His hair has been combed, and his trousers are pressed flat, and his black shirt is clean on this morning, undoubtedly. Simon hates him a little bit, and he kind of wants to mess up his perfect hair, but mostly he just wants to lick his biceps. 

“Oh yeah, the heat,” Simon says, panicking a little. “Hell, it’s hot, isn’t it? Like, really hot. It cools down at night, though, so it’s not that bad. And working in forges, and with fire and stuff, you kind of get used to it.”

“I didn’t know asteroid belts were hot places,” Jace says. “That’s where you were stationed before this, wasn’t it? On an asteroid belt.” 

Simon snorts. “Stationed. I wasn’t stationed anywhere, I lived there. Loads of people live on asteroid belts. That’s where the junkyards form, pulling in everything lost and forgotten and dumped in space, so it’s pretty easy to find something worth your while if you know what to look for, how to salvage it, make it into something better.” 

“Loads of outlaws live on asteroid belts,” Jace corrects him, folding his arms and leaning up against the ladder. “Outlaws, fugitives, refugees. They live on the asteroid belts. Not people.” 

Simon flops back down against the board and rolls backwards a little, picking his screwdriver back up. “Because refugees aren’t people, are they?” 

Jace makes a frustrated sound. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a short pause as Simon bangs something back into place with a tiny hammer – he’s a professional, don’t you know – and then Jace shifts closer. 

“What are you working on?”

Simon pops the screwdriver between his teeth while he fiddles with a panel, and then gestures at Sphynx, who’s quiet between his hands. It’s a lot easier to work on him when he’s powered down, which is why Jace probably doesn’t recognise the hunk of metal. The droid is usually a lively creature, skating around the ship and getting under everyone’s feet, stealing anything shiny for his hoard. 

“Ah,” Jace says, with distaste. He’d never seemed to like Simon’s creations, although that might have had something to do with how much they like Jace. After their first meeting, Nero’s taken every chance he can to nestle himself in Jace’s hair, and Sphynx likes to roam in circles around Jace’s feet, nuzzling his ankles and clawing at his trousers. 

“Yeah, ah,” Simon says, removing the screwdriver and waving it around for emphasis. “He’s malfunctioning lately, and bits of him keep falling off. I’ve had him for a few years now, so it’s not surprising, but these days he needs repairing every other minute. It doesn’t help that Alec keeps kicking him away whenever he comes near.”

Jace snorts. “It’s a reflex, he doesn’t mean it. We never had droids at home, so he’s still not used to them, and your droids have no concept of personal space.”

Simon flushes, and busies himself with a few loose wires. His droids are learning droids, which means that they pick up any behaviour from him, and Simon doesn’t really want to admit that his droids have no concept of personal space because _Simon_ craves contact, and closeness. 

“Where’s the other rust-bucket?” 

Simon makes an indignant sound, and points the screwdriver warningly at Jace, who smirks. It’s weird, talking to Jace like they’re friends, but Simon’s gone quite a while without intelligent conversation, so he’ll take what he can get. 

“Nero’s not rusty, he’s supposed to be that colour. And I’m sure he’s around somewhere. He’s taken a fancy to Isabelle. Are you actually going to tell me what you’re doing here? Because I’m going to take a wild guess and say that this isn’t a social call.”

“Magnus wants everyone on deck in ten for inspection,” Jace says, straightening up. He lifts his foot and catches the bottom of Simon’s board, rolling him towards the ladder and pressing down so that the board tips forward. Simon flails his arms out as he’s unceremoniously dumped on the floor, and whines as his ass makes contact with the metal grating. 

“I have to fix Sphynx,” Simon complains.

Jace rolls his eyes. “He’ll still be here when you come back. Come on, shoes.”

He chucks Simon’s boots at him, and then climbs gracefully up the ladder, opening the hatch to let in some light. Simon squints as the fiery darkness fades, leaving bright spots in his vision. His stomach grumbles unhappily, and his arms and back are sore. He has no idea how long he’s been down here, but he hasn’t slept in all that time. 

He pulls on his boots reluctantly and follows Jace up the ladder. 

The deck of the ship is spacious and slightly curved. The Pandemonium isn’t the most subtle of creations, not for a relatively secretive mission, but Captain Magnus Bane is an extravagant person, with extravagant tastes. 

Simon likes Magnus. He’s a tall, built man with cat-like eyes and astounding grace. He doesn’t speak with a recognisable accent, but it’s pretty clear that he isn’t from Simon’s Quadrant, which means there’s less danger of him recognising Simon. He’s a good Captain, but he’s also kind, and that alone is enough to get Simon to follow him pretty much anywhere. 

Magnus descends the front steps of the ship’s helm, fastening his waistcoat. He smiles winningly at Alec, who’s leaning against the far railing, and who hides a smile in return. Simon can’t help but grin as he follows Jace onto the main deck, lining up beside him and Clary. Magnus and Alec are anything but subtle in their attraction to each other, but it’s sweet to watch it all unfold. 

Jace elbows Simon as Magnus begins to do a sweep of everyone’s appearance, doling out orders as he goes, and Simon hastily straightens his shirt and yanks his trousers up by the belt loops. He scrubs at his cheeks to get rid of some of the dirt and runs a quick hand through his hair, to no avail. Magnus comes to a stop in front of him and sighs a little, looking him up and down.

Simon aims a hopeful smile at him. “I choose to interpret that as a fond sigh?”

“There’s no polite way of putting this. You’re a mess,” Magnus says. “When was the last time you slept?”

Simon opens and closes his mouth for a moment, and Jace snorts derisively.

“He was fixing his robot when I went to get him,” Jace says. “And his room looks like a bomb exploded in it, so I’m going to go with at least two days. Maybe three.”

“The engine is faulty,” Simon says defensively. “I have to keep fixing it. You need better energy crystals. These ones are malfunctioning.”

Magnus furrows his brow. “Exactly how bad is it?”

Simon lifts a hand and tilts it from side to side. “It’ll last you the trip if I keep fixing it, but I’m not sure about the trip back.”

Jace scowls. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I was going to say something today,” Simon says, rolling his eyes. “But I needed to fix the damn things first, so we didn’t plunge into a big fiery explosion of death.”

“You’d already fixed them when I went to get you,” Jace says, wheeling around to glare at Simon. Simon glares right back. “You were working on your stupid robot instead of sharing valuable information with the rest of the team.” 

“Sphynx was hurting,” Simon spits. “I’m not going to leave something hurting if I can help it, and the crystals can last the rest of the damn trip, but Sphynx can’t, not without help.”

“Gentlemen,” Magnus interrupts smoothly. “if you wouldn’t mind calming down, I’m sure this little spat can be postponed. I believe there is a cluster of smaller planet cave systems nearby that may have what we need. Jace, as our navigation expert, why don’t you take Maia and plot a course for us to follow, hmm? And you can take Alec and I with you both when you disembark.”

“Shouldn’t I go with you?” Simon asks. “I know which crystals we need.” 

“You have a robot to fix,” Jace says sarcastically, and Simon has to reel in a bunch of sharp words, as well as a nerve strike. 

“We need experienced fighters, sunshine, just in case,” Magnus says gently. Simon nods shortly, and then wheels around and heads towards the hatch, clambering down. He can hear Jace mutter something to Clary, who doesn’t seem all that impressed at being involved in their little war.

He stomps around his bunker until he gets tired, and then flops down on his bed. The ship tilts as it changes course, and Maia’s voice rings out above deck. He knows he’s being stupid, sulking, but he can’t help it. He slips off the bed and moves back to Sphynx, fiddling with the panel above his shoulder joint. He has about an hour before they reach the cave system planets, and that should be just enough time to fix Sphynx, and figure out how to get off this damn ship without calling attention to himself. 

*

Simon is heading for one of the lifeboats when Izzy catches him. She grips his wrist tightly and yanks him around, and Simon almost trips over Sphynx, who’s circling his feet.

“We got a call signal from Alec’s comm unit,” Izzy says. She startles suddenly, eyeing his backpack, and Simon fiddles nervously with his goggles. “What are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” Simon hedges, trying to inch away. 

“Simon,” Izzy says sharply, and Simon jolts a little. It’s the first time she’s used his first name since he joined the crew, and it takes him by surprise. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he insists, letting his bag slide to the floor. He spots Nero up on the Quarter Deck, hovering curiously around a rope, and he gives a little whistle. Nero perks up and zooms towards him, resting gently on top of Simon’s head. 

“I need your help,” Izzy says. “Clary’s gearing up, but I need you to bring the ship around while I go and find them, make sure it’s okay.” 

“Nope,” Simon says instantly. “I’m going to find them. You bring the ship around. I don’t know how to fly this thing, but you do, and I can at least find out where they are while I wait for you and Clary. There might not even be anything wrong. Here, keep an eye on Nero.”

Nero happily accepts his new perch on Izzy's shoulder. Izzy looks doubtful, and also like she wants to argue, but Simon is already clicking at Sphynx while he heads across the main deck, towards the gangplank. 

“C’mon buddy,” he mutters. “Let’s go see what trouble they’re in.” 

*

The cave is dark and damp, water trickling down the length of the cave walls. Simon slips in through the narrow entrance, following the sound of struggling and muffled shouts. He can hear the rush of water and Alec yelling something, and the whir of machinery, and when he rounds the corner, down the steep earthen slope into a wide, squat area, his heart stops in his chest. 

Along the far stone wall, Alec, Jace and Maia are hanging from chains buried deep in the rock. Maia looks unconscious, but Jace and Alec are straining against their bonds. Magnus is lying prone on the floor, his body too still to be healthy. Simon sidesteps into the shadows when something large and clunky stumbles towards Magnus, lifting a large pincer with a serrated edge. It’s a droid of some sort, but poorly built, wires springing from its broken neck and arms dangling at its side, useless. Only its legs and pincer seem operable, but it’s still moving, which means that somewhere, someone has a remote control for it. 

Simon scans the room, listening to Alec’s muffled shouts as he stares down at Magnus. Simon needs to move quickly, needs to make sure that Magnus is okay, but something is controlling the droid and Simon doesn’t know what, or where it is. 

There’s a pool of water and a thin waterfall on the right end of the cave. Strange crystals glow blue and pink and yellow in the nooks of the rocks, casting light across the mossy floor. There’s some kind of control board, covered in blinking buttons, that looks out of place in the in the cave, and behind it, is a man in an emerald cloak. 

Simon crouches down as the pincer collides with Magnus’s shoulder, rolling him over. His hands skate across the floor until he finds a rock, and he picks it up, sprinting out of the shadows and skidding to a stop by the control panel, raising the rock and bringing it down over the emerald man’s head. The rock smacks against the back of his skull with a resounding crack, and the emerald man slumps forward, collapsing against the panel. Simon glances frantically behind him, but the droid is still moving, still moving its pincer with ominous intent towards Magnus’s throat. 

Desperately, Simon shoves the emerald man off the panel and onto the floor. His fingers fly over the keys and buttons, his mind working at an alarming rate. He slams his hand down on a big red button, and there’s a shriek of metal grinding together from behind him, and the droid stills. Its eyes go blank as it powers down, and Simon breathes out slowly. 

Alec makes a desperate noise, inclining his head as much as he can within his confines, and Simon glances at Magnus, who still hasn’t moved. The pincer is inches from his throat, and Simon flies across the cave and shoves the pincer aside, leaning down to press shaking fingers against Magnus’s skin. There’s a heart-stopping pause, and then the flutter of a pulse against his fingertips. 

Simon sighs in relief, and gently manoeuvres Magnus into the recovery position. Jace makes an impatient sound, and Simon heads towards him. 

“Izzy’s bringing the ship around, and then she’s coming to help,” he says lowly, aware that there might be more than one of them around. “They can help me get you out of all this. Are you all okay?”

He yanks the gag out of Jace’s mouth, and then moves on to Maia, who’s slowly waking up, and Alec, who practically bites Simon’s hand off in his haste to talk.

“Is he alright?” Alec asks urgently, staring over Simon’s shoulder at Magnus. “Is he hurt?” 

“Well, he’s unconscious, but he’s not bleeding or anything. He’s still breathing fine. What happened?”

“We were ambushed,” Jace says shortly. “A group of those mechanical monster things, droids, whatever they are, came up behind us as we were harvesting the crystals. They knocked out Magnus and chained us up. I think they thought he was dead, because they didn’t bother with him. That guy, the one in the cloak, he said something about being the only one allowed to harvest these crystals. He said he needed them for his research.”

“Well, that sounds delightfully ominous. You said there were more of them?” Simon says, glancing around. The cave looks empty, and there’s only the one entrance. “We have to get you out of here, right now.”

He yanks at the nearest chain, and then examines the bolt attaching it to the wall. His modified radio is in his belt, and he picks it up and fiddles with the dial until Sphynx’s channel pops up, filling the room with alarmed beeps and whistles. 

“Quiet down, buddy, I’m okay,” Simon says. “I need your help, though. Can you come in the cave, please?”

There’s a whistle, and Simon clicks off the radio. 

“What’s he supposed to do?” Maia says, a little muzzily. 

“He has a blowtorch in his pincer,” Simon says. “He can melt through the chains.”

“Why does he have a _blowtorch_?” Jace asks, baffled. 

“In case idiots like you get trapped in chains, of course,” Simon says, with fake-cheer, and then he freezes as the sound of large metal footsteps echo down the cave entrance. It’s far too loud to be Sphynx. Clashes and bangs fill the room, and Simon turns in time to see the first of a dozen droids march down the slope of the cave, its eyes red and unforgiving. 

Simon whirls around, stands on his tip-toes, reaches up and wraps a hand around the hilt of the blade strapped to Jace’s back. Jace makes an alarmed sound and yanks on his chains, trying to stop them. 

“Simon, you can’t fight,” Jace hisses. 

“Someone needs to get in front of Magnus, and I doubt it’s going to be his robot,” Alec says, staring at the distance between the droid and Magnus. More droids are coming down the slope now, and Simon unsheathes the sword, careful not to hit Jace on the back of the head with it, or accidentally slice off some of his hair. 

“Someone does, but not Simon,” Jace snaps. “He can’t fight.”

“I said I didn’t fight,” Simon says quietly. He reaches for the dagger he knows is tucked into a sheath at Jace’s ankle, turning and throwing it with deadly accuracy. It arcs across the cave, burying itself in the hinge between the droid’s neck and shoulder, burrowing deep into the wires and circuits. Smoke pours from the wound, and the droid shudders once before going still, keeling over and falling to the floor with a resounding crash. 

Simon raises his sword as the rest of the droids turn as one to look at him. “I never said I couldn’t fight.”

Someone sucks in a breath behind him, but Simon is too busy _moving_. He sprints across the cave and leaps over Magnus, crouching in front of his body and meeting the other droids head on. 

The droids are all taller than him, so he stays lower and jabs at knee joints and ankles, cutting through the fragile metal with his blade. He spots Sphynx out of the corner of his eye, skittering down the slope towards the others, and sends him a thumbs-up in between slicing the blade in an upwards arc through the nearest droid’s stomach. Oil splatters his face, and he feels hot and wired, adrenaline coursing through his system, panting as he ducks and dodges, jabbing and thrusting his sword. He can hear Jace yelling indistinctly, and he doesn’t relax until there’s a ring of mangled metal surrounding him, smoke filling the air and oil pooled at his feet. 

The cave falls silent, and there’s just the sound of Simon’s harsh breathing. He lets his sword arm dip, the tip of his blade brushing the floor, and that’s his first mistake. His second mistake is turning his back on the droids, focusing on Sphynx, who’s hovering in front of Alec with a blowtorch at the ready. Alec glares at the robot, silently daring him to do his worst, and Simon snickers into his palm. Sphynx can hover for short bursts, but he can’t technically fly, so Simon moves to hold him up, when his foot catches on a metal claw. 

Or rather, a metal claw catches on his foot, digging harshly into his skin. He yelps, and glances up in time for Jace’s eyes to lock with his, and then he’s airborne. He feels weightless and then colours blur around him. He squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for impact, and then he hits the water. 

The pool is deep. Crystal clear water rushes up around him as he sinks, momentarily stunned. He’s reminded of the beaches in his picture books, the ones passed through the bars of his cell, when he was younger. He had run his fingers over the glossy images of white shores and blue, blue water. He imagined it would feel like this, this light, airy feeling, if he were to swim. If he were ever to try. 

But he would never try, because his kind can’t swim, and no matter how much he kicks haphazardly, the surface doesn’t get any closer. He sinks and sinks and sinks until the water turns murky and his vision starts to swim, his lungs burning. He can feel his skin start to burn, trying to bleach away the water, and a red-hot glow encases his hands, shining in the water, and he pushes it back. He pushes back the burn and the light, buries it deep down where it can’t hurt anybody. 

The light dies, and Simon squeezes his eyes shut.

*

Simon’s eyes fly open to see Jace hovering above him, eyes wide and panicked. He has half a second to think, groggily, that Jace looks kind of pretty like this, above him, and then he lurches to the side and coughs violently, expelling all the water from his lungs. Coughs rack his body as he shakes and shivers, cold to the bone. He’s never been good with the cold. None of his kind are. 

“Simon. Simon. Breathe.”

“What does it look like I’m trying to do?” Simon gets out, between coughs. He flops back against the floor, arms flailing all over the place. “Could you get off me?”

Jace moves to the side, kneeling beside him with a serious, concerned expression on his face. Simon hasn’t seen him express much towards Simon besides anger, disdain, and smugness, so this is new territory for him. 

“You didn’t think to mention that you couldn’t swim?” Jace asks, helping Simon sit up. “Or that you could fight?”

“I put it in my portfolio, the one I gave to Magnus,” Simon rasps. He ignores the second question. His throat feels sore and bruised, and his limbs are a little like jelly. When he tries to stand, his knees give out, and Jace catches him with an arm around his waist, slinging Simon’s arm over his shoulders. “I didn’t think I’d be spending my time taking leisurely dips in every pool we came across.”

Jace snorts, pulling Simon closer and beginning the trek across the cave. Alec is helping Magnus up, and it’s then that Simon realises that Jace is completely dry, and Alec is soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead and water trickling down his cheeks. His clothes are hanging off him, and Magnus squints at him before smiling somewhat groggily. 

“You know, I had no idea it was my birthday,” Magnus slurs. “I rather like you like this, Alexander. Perhaps I should have installed that pool in the main deck after all.”

Alec ducks his head to hide an embarrassed grin, and Izzy, who’s supporting Maia, rolls her eyes and laughs. Maia looks like she’s asleep standing up, tilting towards Izzy. She takes her weight easily. 

“You pulled me out of the water?” Simon says, bewildered. 

“Your robot got me out of the chains first,” Alec explains. “We could see you weren’t coming back up, and Jace was yelling murder, so I dived in and got you.”

Simon gapes at him. 

Alec arches an eyebrow. “You're welcome.”

“No! I mean, thank you,” Simon babbles. “Obviously. I just didn’t expect… Thank you. Yeah, I’ll bake you a cake or something.”

Alec winces. “Please, don’t. Knowing you, it’ll be full of springs. Just try not to dive headfirst into any more bodies of water.”

With that, he starts gently easing Magnus out of the cave. Magnus brushes him off after a moment, insisting that he can walk by himself, but everyone sees the way he takes Alec’s hand and squeezes it gratefully. Simon grins to himself as they fall into step behind Maia and Izzy, who have no problems leaning on each other. 

“Didn’t expect what?” Jace mutters, as they step over the remains of a droid. 

“Hmm?”

“When you were thanking Alec,” Jace says. “You said you didn’t expect something. What didn’t you expect?”

“Oh, that,” Simon says. They both grow quiet as they pick their way out of the cave. The sunlight is harsh and cold, and Simon shields his face as they stumble outside and down the slope of the hill. Sphynx is up ahead, proudly leading the group, and Simon bites his lip against a grin. He can see the shop at the bottom of the hill, and Clary’s red hair stands out like a beacon, flying in the wind as she perches on Maia’s usual spot on the mast. 

“Did you seriously think we wouldn’t come for you?” Jace grits out. 

Simon stays silent. He’s not sure what he thought, when he was sinking beneath the water. All he knows is that he doesn’t have friends aboard this ship, not really. 

But Izzy asked for his help, and Alec pulled him out of the water, saving his life, and Jace… well, Jace is still here. Still holding onto him, still watching him with barely concealed concern. 

He doesn’t have friends here, but maybe he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love! Thank you! <3


	2. The

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to Simon, just as the earth swallows him up, that he should not have put a healing tear worth more than all the riches in the universe into an ancient, magic fountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Strolls in aeons later with hot chocolate._ S'up?
> 
> Edit: I cleaned up this chapter a little on the 12/01/2019, so if you want to, you can read the tidier version! :)

It becomes clear quickly that Simon doesn’t actually know how to bake. He’s survived for years off rations and tinned food, traded for tools and small, working bots in the frenetic, crowded market in the middle of the Asteroid Belt, and he’s never actually cooked anything more complicated than rice or beans.

Baking, he soon discovers, is a whole other kettle of fish. It involves a lot of mess, a lot of incorrect calculations and measurements, and a half-built stove that he hastily concocted out of a mish-mash of old wires and panels. The result is a soggy, half-burnt apple pie that Simon immediately throws into the recycling system, wincing at the waste and hoping Magnus doesn’t find out. He will find out, of course, because it’s Magnus, and Magnus, although not infallible, is definitely all-knowing.

He grabs two apples from the leftover pile, nudges Sphynx and Nero into standby mode to keep them out of trouble, and clambers up the ladder out of the engine room. Sphynx has been particularly restless, lately, eager to get back on another adventure after he helped save Simon and his crew in a cave recently. Nero still hasn’t really forgiven Simon for almost drowning, and spends most of his time staring at Simon with the bot equivalent of a sulky pout.

He has no idea where Alec might be, considering his timepiece says it’s close to nightfall, or it _would_ be, back in the Lunar Quadrant. He hasn’t been keeping track of how far they’ve gotten, too busy hiding out in his bunk, so he doesn’t know if the timepiece is correct. He just hopes Alec isn’t already in bed, or busy talking to Izzy or Jace. The three of them like to huddle together on the main deck, talking quietly amongst themselves. They always look pretty serious, although occasionally Isabelle laughs loudly and wildly, and the other two direct fond looks at her.

Simon had only gotten the nerve up to ask how they knew each other the previous day, and Jace had looked at him strangely before saying, in a quiet tone, “We’re family.” Simon had known then to leave well enough alone, and had kept quiet. Miraculously.

Now, he steps onto the main deck. Something scuttles up the mast, but when Simon squints up, he can’t see anything but stars and a swirling galaxy. A bot is sweeping the floor in wide, careful strokes with it’s broom-like feet, and further down, Izzy appears to be mopping behind it, her long, braided hair piled up into a wispy bun. A ruby gleams at her throat, and she catches Simon’s eye when he wanders towards her, apples shoved in his pocket. The artificial light from the beam-bots along the masts have died down, giving the illusion of nightfall, so Simon picks his way across the deck, careful not to slip.

“Have you seen Alec?” Simon asks, trying hard to appear casual, and Izzy stares at him suspiciously for a moment before a slow smile curves her lips. She leans against her mop with a knowing expression.

“You know, I honestly thought you’d go for Jace. It looks like my brother is a lot more popular than he first thought.”

It takes a moment before Izzy’s meaning settles over him, and he recoils slightly in horror. He doesn’t even want to pick apart the first part of that statement. “No! No. I literally just want to talk to him – you know, have a conversation, thank him properly for saving my life, that sort of thing. Talking, like normal, everyday people do. I don’t like him like _that.”_

Izzy studies him for a moment, before nodding shortly. “Good, because I’d hate for him to have to let you down. Knowing Alec, it wouldn’t be very gentle. Not because he’s an asshole, although he is, but more because he’s awkward and blunt when he’s surprised.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Simon mutters, and Izzy rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she soothes. “Just that he’s pretty caught up on someone else, and we all know who. He’s over there, by the way.”

She jerks her thumb at the edge of the ship. Simon frowns at the railing. He can see two ropes leading down past the main deck, over the outside of the ship, and as he watches, the ropes sway gently. He says a quick thanks to Izzy and then heads for the ropes, peering down over the railing to find Alec sitting in a lifeboat, a bucket of water tucked between his thighs and a fierce look of concentration on his face as he scrubs green muck off the side of the ship.

Simon gauges the distance between him and the lifeboat carefully, and then sighs, swinging himself over the edge of the ship and landing on light feet in the centre of the lifeboat. Alec swears violently as the lifeboat rocks in mid-air from the force of his landing, but Simon just counts himself lucky he didn’t face-plant the bucket of water. The scrubbing brush lands at Simon’s feet where Alec fumbled it, and he dips down and picks it up, handing it over before dropping onto the seat on the other side of the lifeboat. Alec accepts the brush with a displeased scowl.

“What are you doing here?”

Simon fishes one of the apples out of his pocket, rubs it against his collar, and then throws it at Alec. He fumbles the throw slightly – he may be highly-trained and a force of nature when he wants to be, but that doesn’t mean he’s entirely co-ordinated – but Alec catches it anyway, stooping down to reach it before it can land in the bucket of soapy water. He lifts the apple with a raised eyebrow.

Simon shrugs. “Look, you told me not to bake, so naturally I baked. I baked the hell out of some pie, and it turned out to be the most beautiful creation on the planet, so obviously I had to eat it all myself. This is the leftovers.”

“Translation: you burnt a pie and this is the only thing left untouched by chaos,” Alec offers, after watching him for a moment.

“I fail to see how that’s relevant!”

Alec holds up the apple accusingly. “This is a misery apple.”

Simon shoots him an affronted look. “There’s no such thing as a misery apple, and even if there were, that wouldn’t be one. That’s a ‘thank you for saving my life’ apple, but if you don’t want to eat it, I’ll take it back and make another _delicious_ pie out of it.”

Alec takes a big bite out of the apple, just as Simon reaches for it. He stares at him for a moment, blinking slowly, and then snorts.

“Izzy’s right, you are a bit of an asshole,” he mutters. Alec’s brows furrow, and he looks a little offended.

“She said that? Does _everyone_ think that?”

Simon takes a moment to stare at Alec’s expression, which has a small undercurrent of vulnerability, and suddenly realises that he’s massively unequipped to deal with crisis’ of love. Simon has only ever kissed a grand total of one person, and that was a drunken mistake during a miserable period on the Asteroid Belt. If he senses one hint of an upcoming crush, he squashes it deep down where he can’t see it, so far that he usually doesn’t realise that he’s got one until it’s too late. He’s definitely not going to be able to ease Alec’s fears here, so he falls back on his somewhat reliable method of humour.

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I’m sure Magnus doesn’t think you’re an asshole, and if he does, then it seems like he’s pretty into that.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but he can’t quite hide the blush on his cheeks.

“Jace is pissed at you,” Alec says bluntly.

Simon winces. “Ouch. You sure know how to exact revenge, I’ll give you that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Alec says, clearly flustered and not quite sure how to deal with it, other than getting irritable. “I just thought you might want to know. Seeing as you’re trying to be all buddy-buddy with everyone now, instead of hiding inside the engine room the entire time.”

“Hey, first of all, I was trying to be all buddy-buddy before we even got on the ship, and you were too busy being miserable and ignoring me to notice,” Simon says firmly. Not that he’s mad about it, really, because Alec didn’t owe the crazy guy with the burning ship anything, but still. “And second of all, you would hide inside an engine room constantly too if the only time anyone ever talked to you on board this ship was to yell at you or take the piss.”

Alec narrows his eyes, growing sober. “That’s why you thought we wouldn’t come after you, when you fell in the water.”

“I didn’t fall, I was thrown!” Simon protests indignantly.

“That’s why Jace is pissed at you, by the way,” Alec continues, as though Simon hadn’t spoken. “For thinking we wouldn’t save you. He saved you once, you know, although from the way you fought before, I imagine you didn’t really need him to.”

 _Damn straight,_ Simon thinks.

“That’s something I’ve been wondering about,” Alec adds, staring at him curiously. “I mean, I don't really care, but why _did_ you hide the fact that you could fight?”

Simon can’t help the way he stiffens in fear. He still hasn’t told anyone the truth about him, about where he comes from, who he is, what he can do, what he could _be._

He knows he didn’t have a choice when he fought off the droids in the cave, but it was still a stupid risk to go in there alone when he didn’t know what he was up against. He’s been so, so careful, and now everything is one step closer to being revealed, and he can’t risk spilling the truth.

Simon clears his throat, but he’s never been that great at lying, not when confronted by surprise. He can scheme and plot and hide the truth, but lying spontaneously is a different matter.

“It—uh—”

Alec snorts softly, shaking his head. He stares for a beat, and then picks up the sponge from inside the bucket of water, wrings it out, and lobs it at Simon, who just barely catches it. He grimaces as the slimy water sinks through his shirt where the sponge is pressed against his chest.

“If you’re going to stay, you can help me with this,” Alec says, gesturing at the wall of gunk and muck rising up beside them. Alec leans back, folding his feet over at the ankles, and grins at Simon, who is seized with the urge to grab that bucket and dump the contents all over him.

“Or you can go back to hiding in your engine room,” Alec adds, slightly quieter, and Simon sees the offer for what it actually is.

He hesitates, and then he rolls his eyes and starts scrubbing.

*

He starts hanging out with Alec—

“Please,” Alec deadpans. “Don’t call it ‘hanging out.’”

—Pretty much most nights. Alec doesn’t appear to sleep much, not like the rest of them, too restless and antsy to settle down. If he does go elsewhere, he goes to Magnus, it seems like. Simon’s seen him slip into the Captain’s chambers, where the buttery lamps cut through the gloom of night. 

When they do hang out, his eyes always seem to be somewhere else. Simon doesn’t mind, since his mind is pretty much always on Brim, his home planet, no matter how hard he tries to push it away.

One night, they’re watching the stars and ignoring their chores – pulling little sticky stowaways off the side of the ship with flat tools – when Alec starts to talk.

“I know you and Izzy and Jace are family,” Simon says, mostly thinking aloud. “I’m not sure how, but I’m not gonna ask, because you guys seem to like your secrets. That must have been fun, though. Growing up together like that.”

Not that he’s one to talk about secrets. Alec gives him a look that seems to suggest the exact same thing, and Simon grins charmingly at him. Alec seems to find some amusement in that, at least, which is good, because it means that Simon is slowly wearing him down with exposure to his company.

“Izzy is my sister, as you probably already know,” Alec says, proffering the information despite Simon not technically asking for it. “And Jace is our adopted brother. He had to leave for a while, a few years ago, so I hadn’t seen him in a while before I got to the ship. It’s why I was surprised.”

There’s something else, something deeper, but Simon has _just_ enough self-control not to pry.

“So, family’s pretty important to you, I take it.”

“Obviously,” Alec drawls.

Simon doesn’t like the way people seem to think it’s obvious, that family has to be important. He’s not stupid. He can see that there are plenty of people in the universe that would do this insane, terrifying voyage for the sake of family, but Simon isn’t one of those people. He might have been, once, but there isn’t much left to voyage for now. 

“So, that’s why you’re here, then? Because of family?” Simon muses slowly.

Alec glances at him sharply, and then rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated. “You could have just asked.”

Simon rolls his eyes right back, rather pointedly. “Everyone on this ship is here because they’re desperate, have no other option, or have nothing to lose. It’s their last shred of hope. That’s not the kind of thing you just ask about.”

Alec tips his head to the side, conceding. His eyes flit to the side, out past the stars, to a nearby planet. It’s their next stop, something about temples and asking for luck on their voyage, a travellers’ tradition. Simon doesn’t really understand it, but the surface of the planet is greener than anything Simon’s ever seen before, and that’s enough to tempt him.

“My mother,” Alec says slowly. “Our mother, she got sick. Really sick, and the doctors don’t know how to save her. The Lightwood’s are a pretty well-known family, but all the connections in the world won’t fix something that can’t be fixed. Izzy left for the Stellar Quadrant, to look for a solution, and I guess we stumbled across the same one, because she contacted me, told me about this voyage, but I already had my bags packed. My father wasn’t pleased, when he heard about it, but I don't care.”

He flashes Simon a grin, startling him.

“So, I take it you’re hoping there’s something on the other end,” Simon says. “Something that can heal your mother.”

“If there’s any luck in the world, I’ll find what I’m looking for,” Alec says. “We all will.”

*

One cycle away from their next destination, a green planet known as Satnune that grows closer and closer by the hour, Magnus interrupts their evening. Not with an announcement or an idle order, but by striding in and picking up the radio they’d been listening to. 

He wrenches the dial sideways just before the Quadrant Reports can blare through the fuzzy speakers, to a cacophony of protests.

“Oh fearless leader,” Izzy says, sitting up from her prone position on the floor. “Where’d you think you’re going with our only source of entertainment?”

“Are you calling my vessel dull, Miss Lightwood?” Magnus’s eyes glitter in the dark. “Perhaps I should have booked a nightly performance for you. A band, perhaps, to serenade you to sleep.”

Izzy grins. “I would have liked that. Alec, wouldn’t you have liked that?”

Alec doesn’t say much, half-asleep as he is in his hammock, but his eyes drift lazily over to Magnus. He doesn’t even have to say anything for Magnus’s expression to soften, but the little yawn and the shuffle of the blankets probably help.

“Is something going on?” Alec asks, blinking slowly at their Captain. 

Jace, nearby, perks his head up to look at Magnus. Simon glances between everyone’s faces and Magnus, who stands with his fingers clenched around the dial. They can’t hear the announcements anymore.

“Nothing to be worried about,” Magnus says, speaking directly to Alec. “I think you might want to ask Simon, though.”

Simon jolts. “What? What do you mean?”

Panic churns in his stomach for a brief moment, but Magnus’s relaxed face confuses him. 

“About the entertainment,” Magnus clarifies. “Surely you have some sort of doodad in your pocket that can play music?”

The panic leaves Simon in a wheeze, and he almost sighs before he catches everyone looking at him, waiting. 

“There’s a doodad right there that was playing music just fine,” he grouches quietly, but Magnus’s relaxed expression doesn’t change. Izzy pouts, her hand creeping towards her whip, and Simon throws his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright! I think Sphynx has a station somewhere on him.”

Sphynx, idling under one of the hammocks, comes wheeling out importantly. Nero makes a little trumpeting noise of discontent: after being left behind last time, he’s eager to save the day, to save Simon if he can, even if it just means supplying him with music when he wants to.

“Sorry, buddy,” Simon says, reaching round to pat Nero’s buzzing head. “You can sing me a song another time, yeah? I think these guys might like a different tune, though. They’re no fun. They don't like codes and graphs.”

Nero’s songs are mostly data, but Simon’s happy to listen to them anytime. 

“Well, that’s settled then,” Magnus says, drumming his fingers against the radio. “Don't stay up too late. Fight amongst yourselves over who’s going to scrub the sails tomorrow. The boosters look ghastly in the wrong light.”

He bustles off after another stolen glance at Alec, radio clasped firmly in his hands.

Alec mumbles something in his sleep that sounds suspiciously like ‘Simon can do it’ and Simon scowls at him while everybody else chuckles. 

*

The planet is lush and green, verdant. Soft grass cushions the soles of his feet. Simon had slipped off his shoes the second he stepped off the gangplank, and now he’s walking barefoot up the largest hill in all the cosmos. The soil is dry and warm and the place feels heavenly. 

“I’ve never been to a place like this,” Simon murmurs, leaning down to run his hands through the grass. Maia, walking beside him, watches him hunch over with amusement. 

“I didn’t know places like this existed,” Maia admits.

Simon staggers upright and swings the arm holding his boots gently as he walks, cocking his head curiously in Maia’s direction. 

Maia’s amusement only grows. “It’s not a big secret. My home planet was small and covered in sand. Nothing grew there.” She shrugs. “I’d never been anywhere apart from that planet, and pretty soon you get tired of rocky outcrops. I always said that, one day, I’d go to a planet that was purely water, and I’d just swim. Study the plants and sea-life, and swim for as long as I could.”

Maia sounds wistful. Her eyes travel to the blue sea just beyond the ship, stationed at the base of the hill. 

“Don't be offended if I pass on the invite,” Simon says, grimacing at the thought of deep, open water. 

“Who said you were invited?” Maia grins slyly at him, and Simon puts a hand on his chest, offended. 

“Oh, that’s how it is, is it? That’s how it’s gonna be?”

“That’s how it’s gonna be.” Maia’s bright laugh catches Jace’s attention. He stares at them both for a moment before scowling and turning around, storming up the hill. 

“What’s up with him?” Simon asks, nudging Maia. 

“Figure it out yourself.” Maia shakes her head at his confused expression. She mutters something about oblivious men under her breath, before pulling Simon along. 

The Temple at the top of the hill is a thing of beauty. It’s not quite a ruin, but the moss that winds its way around each crumbling pillar gives it the air of something ancient, something echoing with centuries’ worth of stories. Simon steps, barefoot, across the sun-warmed slabs of stone. There’s a pool of crystal clear water in the centre of the huge, open room, that looks as though it could have been a fountain, once upon a time. Water dampens the walls, and their combined, slow breaths echo off the stone. Simon can’t help but tip his head back and stare, mesmerised, at the pictures carved in the ceiling. 

“Protectors of the Journey,” Magnus says, his voice billowing in the cavernous space above them. “It’s said that you have to put something important in the water, something to signify how much your destination means to you, and your Journey will be blessed. An old tradition, but important nonetheless. Especially when you consider where we’re going.”

He moves, then, to the fountain, and dips a hand into his pocket. Simon doesn’t see what he withdraws, but he watches the shape sink beneath the water and disappear. Alec goes next, and Simon looks away. 

Simon has his own faith. His faith has kept him strong, kept him at home when home was far out of reach. These Gods and Goddesses, these Protectors, are not his, but there is something beautiful about the faith of others. He might not share their beliefs, but he can appreciate the rich love woven into them. 

“What are you putting in?” Simon asks. There’s no answer from Maia, and Simon turns to see her talking to Jace nearby. He frowns, and decides not to ask again, since they didn’t hear him the first time. Magnus beckons him forward then, and Simon digs around in his pockets, but he doesn’t have anything of value. 

“A little warning would have been nice,” Simon says to Magnus, scowling. 

Magnus smiles at him knowingly. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. We all have a little value within us.”

Simon stiffens. He lets Maia push him gently aside and makes his way to one of the pictures on the walls, instead, thinking. He can feel eyes on the back of his neck, and he knows they belong to Jace. He studies the pictures, but he doesn’t see them.

He has something of value, but it doesn’t come easily. 

Thinking sad things has never made Simon cry. He’s been in physical pain far too often for that to make him burst into tears either. The only thing that will upset him enough to make him cry is old memories, and Simon never lets himself dwell on them. He keeps moving. He builds things. He hides and plots and keeps his head down. 

He’s going to have to dwell on them now. 

His mother’s face is easy to picture. Soft and stern and loving, worried more often than not. Her long, wavy hair and the scent of her perfume, and the way her hands felt on his cheek and chin, tilting his head up to the sun to say _look, look, look what we came from._ He doesn’t remember what colour her eyes were, but he likes to pretend they were just like his. 

Simon swallows. This is the point where he usually keeps moving. 

Instead, he pictures his sister, the way Rebecca’s eyes widened as they dragged her out of the cell and the way she kicked and fought, trying to get to Simon. He lets the old fear roll back through him, and his eyes burn. 

A teardrop lands in his open palm. There’s a split second where it searches for something to heal, but all of Simon’s hurts are internal, aches of the heart, so the tear changes instead. The clear water begins to turn murky and hard, until it’s a deep red, perfectly sculpted teardrop, made of ruby. Simon’s hand dips with the weight of it, and he closes his fingers over the jewel just as Jace steps up beside him. 

“Find anything? Magnus says we’re leaving in a minute.” He stares at Simon then, as though he’s only just seen him. “Are you _alright?_ Are you hurt?”

Simon laughs, and it sounds odd, rebounding off the walls. He nods jerkily, pushing back the rest of his tears before they can fall, before Jace can see. The memories get locked up tightly in a box in his mind. He smiles winningly. 

“All good here. Just gotta…”

He gestures at the fountain, and then makes his way over to the clear pool. The teardrop vanishes as soon as the tip sinks beneath the surface. There are no ripples. Simon exhales heavily as he steps back, shoving his shoes back on his feet as he hops his way across the room. Jace helps to steady him with a hand on his arm, and Simon doesn’t push him away. He’s getting better at that. 

“You were mad at me,” Simon says, as they push out into the bright sunlight, following the others down the hill. 

“I was,” Jace agrees, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket. “You’d have been mad at me, if I thought you’d let me drown.”

Simon opens his mouth to protest, but there’s not much to say to that. He can’t help his gut reaction, but he also knows he would have been… hurt, if Jace assumed he was the type of person to just let him die right in front of him. 

“Yeah, yeah I would have been,” Simon says. “Guess I haven’t really had a lot of people around that would save me recently. When I say recently, I mean years.”

Jace snorts. “I got that. Look, I know I’m an ass, but don't write me off just yet, yeah?” He looks uncomfortable. “I’m not… I do actually give a shit, you know.”

“Look, at you, talking about feelings like a real boy.” Simon elbows him playfully, and Jace grunts, but doesn’t shift away. “I’m so proud I could cry.”

The sharp look Jace gives him tells Simon that he knows that was what he was doing earlier, but thankfully, Jace doesn’t ask questions. Simon’s pretty grateful, so grateful that he’s about to open his mouth and offer to help Jace with his chores later on, which is about when the planet starts moving. 

Jace grabs Simon as the ground convulses beneath them, and then they’re sliding downhill as it rears up, grass and moss and earth spilling over their heads. 

“Move!” Magnus shouts, beckoning them forward, but Simon can barely hear what he says next over the roar of earth splitting in two. He splutters as dirt gets into his mouth, and manages to get his feet underneath him, yanking Jace across the ground with him. 

They slip and stumble their way across the rolling earth. 

“It’s aiming for you!” Jace shouts, trying to drag Simon out of harm’s way. The earth keeps splitting and cracking open, a cavernous rip left behind exactly where Simon’s been running. The temple is lost behind the wave of earth that rises up above them. 

It occurs to Simon, just as the earth swallows him up, that he should not have put a healing tear worth more than all the riches in the universe into an ancient, magic fountain. 

It’s dark. It’s dark and hot, damp, and Simon can’t move. His arms are wound tightly to his sides by the packed earth. The earth shifts around him constantly, churning but never letting up its grip. This is what it’s like, he thinks desperately, to be buried alive. But there’s something still clinging to his hand in the dark, something just as alive as he is. He squeezes Jace’s fingers. Jace squeezes back in a grip that could break bone, and Simon would sigh in relief, if he could breathe. 

_“We are so old,”_ moans a voice that can only be the island. Simon winces. It’s in his head, rather than out loud, and Simon has never particularly liked having anything in his head that wasn’t his own. _“Ancient and bruised. This universe is so unkind to us. The sea grows too deep and rises, and the sun grows burning, up there in the sky, and soon we will be swallowed up. We hurt. Oh, we hurt. You must heal us.”_

Simon tries desperately to speak, to tell the island that it simply doesn’t work that way, that he’s tried to heal more than physical, human hurts before and it’s done nothing, but the earth just tightens around him, pleading. 

_”Please,”_ the island moans, a guttering sound. _“Please heal us. We hurt so much. Heal us.”_

Bright light appears in the small cracks of earth, and Simon holds his breath as the cocoon explodes around him. Alec’s face fills his vision, yelling and pulling him and Jace forward, and Simon starts to run so fast that he almost doesn’t see Magnus and the blue light pouring from his hands. 

They sprint to the ship and up the gangplank, tumbling to the ground. Magnus moves, quick as a whip, his hands dancing through the air. The gangplank rises up behind him. Maia puts her knife between her teeth and scales the mast, untying ropes and slashing at bonds to get the sails moving, to kick the boosters into gear. They unfurl with a screech of metal, while Simon stares at the sky, wide-eyed. 

Magnus whistles, a sharp sound, and the Pandemonium moves. The blue light around his hands fades slowly as the island sinks back into slumber, one last mournful call echoing across the waves.

It turns to mist as they pull out across the sea and up into the air. 

“What the hell did you put in that pool?” Jace demands, as they lie panting on the deck. Simon’s heart pounds in his chest, his breath coming in sharp pants. He’s sticky with dirt and sweat, and the floorboards are uncomfortable under his back, but he doesn’t care. 

“Nothing!” Simon pants. He cranes his neck and eyes Magnus. “More importantly, since when can Magnus use magic?”

“Since the day I was born, little engine boy,” Magnus says, waving a hand dismissively. “Before you ask, I would have used it in the crystal cave if I weren’t hit from behind. Even magic isn’t foolproof, especially when the element of surprise is involved. I am intrigued by Jace’s question, though.”

There’s a light in his eyes, curious and knowing. Simon shifts his gaze hurriedly to Alec. He regrets it when he catches sight of Alec’s devious grin. 

“What?” Simon mutters, defensive. 

Alec raises an eyebrow. “Oh, nothing. Comfy?”

Simon wrinkles a brow in confusion, and then Jace makes a soft noise, staring down at their joined hands. Jace snatches his hand away and gets up abruptly, storming across the ship and down into the Navigation Room, where he sleeps. The door grinds shit behind him. Simon feels the loss acutely, his hand still aching from the force of Jace’s grip.

“Well,” Simon says, as he blinks after him, still curled on the floor. “That was an adventure.”

*

Artificial lights on the Pandemonium are the bane of Simon’s existence. 

“How the hell can they make you sweat?” he demands, groaning as he lies on the deck. He was here a few days ago, too, recovering from almost being Island-chow, but now he’s here because Maia keeps handing him his ass. He’s not sure which occasion he prefers. 

“I don't think it’s the lights making you sweat.” Clary nudges him with her toe. She’s drawing again, like she usually is, watching the fights play out from her position on top of a barrel. “Maybe you should try the double-edged sword again. You were better with that.”

Simon swears, clambering to his feet. 

“Maybe you should try ducking,” Izzy suggests helpfully. Her whip sits like a snake around her arm. She hangs halfway up the main mast-pole, one arm looped around it to keep herself from falling, and her hair flutters gently as she sways. If Simon squints, he thinks he can spot Sphynx rumbling around under her. 

“You’re good,” Maia says, as she tucks both her knives back into her holsters. “You’re passable with most weapons, I’d say. It’s just hand-to-hand that needs some work. I’m not really the expert there. I prefer my spatha.”

Simon’s well-acquainted with Maia’s love for her spatha. He grimaces, gathering his own knives from where they clattered to the floor. 

“I thought you were all badass now,” Izzy says, swinging down to land flat-footed on the floor, knees slightly bent so she can spring up again, all smiles, and start strolling towards Simon. 

“I was never badass,” Simon says, grinning at her. “I know how to fight enough to save my own skin, but I’ve never fought like this before. With people working with me.”

He pauses, and so do the others. It’s more than he meant to reveal. 

“Well,” Clary says, as she adds another small pencil mark to her drawing with confidence, so that the Simon crying on the floor has the proper shade to his hair, “I think you better get used to it, Lewis.”

“Ay-ay, Fray.”

He turns to Maia, who grins at the new light in his eyes. 

“Show me some moves, then.”

*

Showering on a space vessel is always a little bit of a nightmare, but Simon manages. Nero hovers worriedly around him as he towels off his hair, soft pants slung over his hips and a long-sleeved nightshirt in place. Simon strokes one of Nero’s wings with the tip of his finger, muttering reassurances. Nero purrs as he settles onto Simon’s shoulder, swaying as they walk.

“Sing me a song, then, buddy,” Simon says. “What’s the damage?”

Nero’s eye glows a dark green as code appears in a small hologram, projected a few inches away from his tiny body. It’s not the rundown diagnostics on the crystals powering the engine, like Simon was expecting. It’s not even anything very scientific. It’s just a tally of all the times Simon’s been hurt while Nero’s not with him.

Simon snorts fondly, feeling a rush of warmth for the little beady body on his shoulder. “I don't think that’s a cause and effect thing, Nero. Just means I attract trouble.”

Nero hums, nuzzling against his neck. 

“I take it you’ve forgiven me, then?” Simon asks, making his way across the deck. Another scuttling sound from above makes him stop sharply, but narrowed eyes reveal nothing but tangled ropes and sails. Space is always dark, but the beam-bots brighten the way, which means it’s not yet evening. He can hear Clary and Maia laughing above, in the nest, and he reckons Izzy is probably sequestered below. Two shadows near the helm belong to Magnus and Alec, closer together than they would usually allow, their voices soft and tender. 

Simon pauses outside the Navigation Room. Jace hasn’t come out for a full day, and he’s been snippy and stoic since they were almost eaten by an ancient Island. Simon is trying hard to ignore the fact that he’s worried, but it just isn’t working. He hasn’t been able to fix anything all day, and Sphynx actually has a new scratch rather than a repaired runner. He’d like to be able to fix this, if he can. 

He knocks, and then pokes his head around the door before Jace can tell him to piss off, or make a move to lock him out. 

Jace looks up as Simon’s head appears, and his scowl melts away briefly before coming back full-force. He’s leaning over a wide, round wooden table covered in an abundance of thick brown maps, patterned with lines of red and blue and markings that Simon doesn’t understand. More maps cover the walls, along with ticking clocks and glass cases full of peculiar brass instruments and tools. A hammock swings in one corner, unused in favour of the window-seat, layered with soft furnishings. 

“What are you doing here, Simon?” Jace asks, eyeing him warily as Simon strolls in, a low whistle on his lips. 

“Admiring your quarters,” Simon says. Nero gets up, reluctant to leave Simon but obviously eager to explore, and buzzes towards Jace. He hovers for a moment, and then zooms closer to rest on Jace’s head.

“Hey, lugnut,” Jace says, looking up awkwardly at his own head without tipping his neck. He winces as Nero roots around. 

There’s a moment where Simon isn’t sure if Jace is about to perform some wild head-waving move to dislodge Nero, but Nero settles in with a little appreciative beep. Jace sighs, clearly resigned to the fact that Simon is staying. 

“At least shut the door,” Jace says irritably, flipping the corner of a map. “What, were you born in a barn?”

A castle, actually, but his manners might have gotten a little lost along the way to adulthood. Simon shuts the door, affecting a sheepish look as he comes closer, peering at the maps and notes. Nero shuts his eye with a quiet, tired hum. Jace seems to be keeping a lot more still than usual, Simon he notices, with a small, fond smile. It’s endearing. 

“I wanted to see if you were okay,” Simon says, leaning one hip against the table as he slings his damp towel over one shoulder. His hair is still wet, like a patch of ink in the oily lamplight, and he can see Jace’s eyes flicker towards his hands when he runs his fingers through it. “It’s not every day that you get eaten by a sentient island, after all.”

Jace snorts. “Weirder things have happened. And we both know it was after you, not me.”

Simon opens his mouth to deny that, but shuts it with a click when Jace glares at him. At least he isn’t asking more questions. Simon shrugs instead of arguing properly. 

“I don't think it discriminates against what it eats, though," Simon says. "And there’s a lot more meat on you.”

Simon gets a little distracted by his own words, running his eyes slowly over Jace’s undoubtedly larger form. Jace smirks at him, shaking his head gently. Nero sways, but doesn’t wake up. 

“Is that so?”

“Shut up.” Simon clears his throat. “So, what are you doing down here, Mr Navigator?”

“Navigating.”

“Ha, _ha,”_ Simon says, rolling his eyes. He starts a slow stroll of the room, lingering on the shiny brass instruments, curious. His fingers trail against the glass. “Seriously. What do you do down here?”

“It’s not that exciting. Magnus and I charted a course before we set sail, a safe route through the Quadrants to get to the Wishing World.”

“Our Planet,” Simon murmurs, turning to face Jace. That’s what the whole universe calls it: Our Planet. But it’s name, when found again, was roughly translated to mean the Wishing World. 

“Yeah, that. We charted a course, but because of new surge storms and asteroid belts unforming here and there, some of the routes get blocked off.”

“A surge storm?”

Jace heads to one of the glass cases near the window seat. There are copper fixings all down the side which Jace undoes with flicks of his fingers, and then the door swings open silently. He beckons Simon over. 

“See this?” Jace points at an orb resting on a set of silver feet. Inside, a galaxy squirms and grows. “It’s a storm detector. They’re rare, and they cost one hell of a fee, so I don't know where Magnus got it from, but I know it was expensive.”

“It detects storms?” Simon reaches in to touch the glass, but Jace’s hand shoots out and grabs his fingers, stifling the motion. 

“What _is_ it with you and not having any self-preservation?” Jace asks, exasperated. His hands are calloused and warm. “Put your hands in your pockets. Maybe that way you won’t shove us all right in the middle of danger again.”

Simon jerks back, offended, but Jace lets go of his hand and talks over him. 

“There are different orbs, but they all detect something. This one detects surge storms. They’re volatile waves of sand, out in the darkest parts of space.”

“Sand?” Simon eyes the orb, but all he sees is indigo and a spattering of stars. No sandcastles lingering in the black mist. 

“Sand,” Jace confirms. “A sandstorm, out in space. We don't know why they occur, but we do know that the sand isn’t… well, let’s just say you wouldn’t want to bury your head in this stuff.”

“So you’re navigating around the surge storms?”

“And other things, like exploded asteroids, shipwrecks, that kind of thing.” Jace shrugs. “The surge storms are the worst, though. And they always leave a trail of destruction behind them, so the plan is to avoid the spots where they seem most likely to occur.” 

“Is that all you do in here?” Simon glances around at the papers and maps and the guttering light. “Get all covered in ink in the dark? Find ways to make us safe?”

Jace cocks his head, closing the glass door and fiddling with the copper fixings until its locked tight. Simon almost gets distracted by those calloused fingers again, the way they move so confidently, so gently despite the power behind each wrist movement. 

“Alright, self,” Simon murmurs. “Calm down.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Simon coughs, spinning around and making a beeline for the closest thing, which happens to be the table covered in maps. It’s a whirl of red, black and blue lines, and a few glittering gold strokes of paint here and there. All four Quadrants are visible, segregated by neat charcoal strokes. 

“Why’d you really come down here?” Jace asks. He hasn’t moved away from the case, leaning back against the strip of wall beside it, arms folded over his chest as he looks at Simon. His gaze is inscrutable, but with Nero still asleep on his head, it’s hard to take his seriousness seriously. 

“To see you.” Simon shrugs. “Nobody’s seen you since the island thing, not really. I thought we were done being mad at each other.”

“I’m not mad.”

Simon snorts, giving Jace a deadpan look that speaks volumes. 

“I’m not,” Jace insists, breaking away from the wall and strolling closer. It’s all far too casual, and Simon gets an inkling that this is what tiny, helpless prey feel like, being stalked by something in the wild. Something that knows it’s going to win. Something that can take its time. 

“Hey, before you do your big looming thing where you make me feel small and helpless, consider the fact that I could definitely break a few things in here if I flailed about enough.” Simon backs up slightly, still rambling. “And I’m scrappy, you know. I could take you.”

Jace stops in his tracks. His face cycles through several emotions: confusion, surprise, incredulity, before coming to a stop at exasperation. Simon peers at him. 

“I wasn’t going to fight you,” Jace says, definitely exasperated again. “Is that really all you think of me? That I like looming and scowling? That I want to _hurt_ you?”

Simon opens his mouth to answer: he doesn’t think that, not really, but Jace can be a little intimidating, and his face gets so closed off sometimes that Simon can never tell if he’s thinking about fields of soft flowers and hot cocoa or bathing in the blood of his enemies. Before he can talk, the ship rocks a little, and Simon’s feet slip on the ground. He skids towards Jace and gets grabbed by the elbows, but Jace looks equally as unsteady over the whole thing. Simon stares up at him, wide-eyed and alarmed. 

“Who’s sailing?” 

“Izzy,” Jace says, his voice firm and tinged with the beginnings of dread.

“She doesn’t--” Simon starts, because Izzy doesn’t make mistakes. 

“I know.”

The ship rocks again, harder and more obvious this time. They cling to each other, Jace’s grip bruisingly tight. A shudder travels through the walls. 

“We should--” Simon starts. 

Jace nods tightly, and they turn to stumble their way up the stairs, out of the Navigation Room. 

Chaos meets Simon’s eyes as they climb onto the deck, gripping the walls and each other to keep upright. Barrels roll across the wooden boards, one of the sails flaps wildly, a metal splint broken off in the middle like an exposed bone. Clary’s hastily tying knots in the free ropes, and Simon watches as Maia slips towards her to help. A broom-bot squeals as it slides from one end of the ship to the other. 

“Hold tight,” Simon says to Nero, over the howl of noise and - it feels like wind but it can’t be, not out here - that buffets the ship. If he peers through the protective shield around the outside of the Pandemonium, he can see sickening flashes of purple and fold, spider webbing over the shield. 

“What the hell’s going on?” Jace snaps. He’s there one minute, and then the next he’s loping towards the main steps that lead up and behind them onto the Quarter Deck, to where the helm is. Nero’s alarmed beep kicks Simon into gear, and he follows quickly, his feet unsure. 

They stagger up the steps together to find Magnus at the helm, Izzy yelling fiercely in his ear while Alec looks on, narrow-eyed and unsure. There’s a small red box in his hands. 

“I told you, I can do this,” Izzy insists as they draw closer. “Magnus, if you’d just tell us what’s going on, maybe we could help.”

“I’m not the one keeping secrets on this ship, Isabelle, darling.”

Magnus slams the helm to the left, his hands skating expertly over the wooden spokes of the wheel. His black coat flitters behind him, and his dark eyes are fixed unerringly ahead. 

“If you’re suggesting,” Izzy snaps, but Alec cuts her off by striding forward and resting a hand on her shoulder. 

“He’s not talking about you,” Alec says, tugging her away. His eyes flick inexplicably to Simon and stay there. The bottom drops out of Simon’s stomach, and he swallows thickly. Jace doesn’t miss the look, glancing back at Simon with a question in his eyes. A question Simon can’t answer, a question that he didn't think anybody knew to ask. _What are you hiding?_

The winds die suddenly. The ship stops rocking, and they lurch as it rolls to a stop, floating in the stillness of space. 

Magnus sighs heavily, his fierce gaze lingering on Simon before he steps back from the helm. “This isn’t over. We need to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” Clary demands, as she and Maia storm up the stairs. Their sail is in tatters, and Clary has a small cut on her cheek. Both of their hands are red raw from handling the thick, rough ropes so frantically.

“Are you both okay?” Magnus asks. His voice cuts through the chaos that feels very present, even if most of them are silent and confused. Maia tucks her hands into her pockets. Clary nods stiffly. 

“I still want to know what’s going on,” she says. 

Jace is still glaring at Simon. “So do I.”

Izzy snorts. “Join the club.” She turns to Magnus, her braid almost whipping Alec in the face. The red box on Alec’s hands is a radio, Simon realises, with another surge of dread. It’s the radio Magnus took from them a few nights ago. 

“Well?” Izzy says. 

“We were taken through a Vessel Portal without our permission,” Magnus says succinctly. “They can only be summoned and used by people with immense power or clever connections. You can take any vessel from space through the portal, provided its within range, and have it arrive at your doorstep. I didn't give permission, so naturally it was a bit of a bumpy ride.”

Silence is an uncomfortable companion, until Maia breaks it.

“Who summoned us? And why?”

Simon takes a very small step back, the bad feeling intensifying. He can hear noise off the starboard side, distant but there. The clatter of small, fast engines. 

“We’ve been pursued across the last Quadrant by messages via my Communicator,” Magnus explains, sharing a brief look with Alec, who remains stone-faced. “I’ve dealt with them, denying their claims, but we have something of theirs, and they refuse to allow us to leave the Lunar Quadrant without returning it. I had hoped we could cross the border and be out of range, but apparently I underestimated them.”

“Do you know them?” Izzy puts her hand on the hilt of her whip, over her wrist. “Are we about to know them?”

“I know one of them,” Magnus says tiredly. “Raphael always did manage to get mixed up with the wrong sort of people. The rest are strangers to me, but yes, I imagine we’ll meet them very soon. Which is why we need to prepare.”

Simon takes another step back as everyone straightens up. Sphynx comes trundling up the stairs, and Nero zooms away from the crowd towards him, his wings fluttering. They chatter together, and Simon watches them while he considers whether he can make it to the lifeboats in time. 

“Just one last thing,” Jace says, interrupting the swift discussion of what they’ll need, and Izzy’s growing list of weapons. 

“Jace,” Alec says softly, but he goes ignored. 

“Which doorstep have we arrived on?” Jace says. “This doesn’t look like the Quadrant we were in. It looks almost like we went back a few leaps from where we started. I’d know, being the Navigator, so don't give me any shit.”

Magnus throws his eyes heavenward. “Why is that everyone seems insistent on accusing me of hiding things, and lying? I told you all. I’m not the one keeping secrets here.”

Magnus lowers his eyes again and meets Jace’s unimpressed glare coolly. Simon flinches, despite the fact that it’s not aimed at him. 

“We’ve arrived at Brim, I do believe, somewhere in the Inferno Quadrant,” Magnus says, waving a hand at the deep black sky all around them, and the red stars that burn in the deep. “If you want to know more, I suggest you ask your little engine boy.”

Jace’s shoulders stiffen. Simon, halfway to the stairs, freezes in his tracks as everyone turns to look at him, barring Jace. The clatter of engines grows louder as they approach, until Simon can see a vague shape of a small, square ship just outside the shield. He can’t see Brim, but Brim is dark enough that it’s almost hidden regardless of whether shields are up, blocking the view.

Magnus does look truly apologetic as he stares at Simon. Alec tugs the radio closer. 

“Simon?” Clary asks, bewildered. “What does Simon have to do with anything?”

Red cracks appear in the starboard side of the shield, and the engine of the Pandemonium gives an almighty shudder. Someone shouts just outside of the shield, and Magnus sighs again.

“More than you know, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to get answers out of him.” Magnus raises his hands, glowing blue, and Simon swallows, fixing his eyes on Jace’s rigid, unmoving back. “First, we have to hide him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much! I think I'll be able to finish this off soon-ish, hopefully. I hope you enjoyed, please let me know what you thought! <3


	3. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How long’s it been?” Simon asks, when Raphael steps up to the cell doors. He doesn’t touch the bars, but he does roll a leather bottle of water through them. It hits Simon in the foot, but he ignores it despite the way his throat aches for relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm changing the Chapter Titles, I hope nobody minds! I hope you like this one, thanks for the lovely response to the last chapter! <3
> 
> Warnings: Swearing. There's quite a bit of violence, since Simon's going through a bad way, but it's not described graphically. It is there, though, so be safe! There's also a mention of two past deaths at the end of this (not major characters) - you may scroll to the end notes if you would like spoilers! <3

Raphael Santiago’s cloak, black and slim, skims the surface of the deck with a soft hush. Simon knows it’s him. He knows the heavy, metal-tipped boots that thunk across the floor. He knows the way Raphael's voice sounds, imperious and stuffy, when he calls for Magnus to show himself. 

Simon stays still, barely breathing. Even the engine is still and silent, although that's partly from the ragged beating it took from the Vessel Portal. Sphynx and Nero are under his cot, powered down, much to their disgust. They’ll pop back to awareness in an hour or two, but if things go the way Simon is afraid they will, he won’t be here to greet them. 

The single slat in the hatch above him is cracked open just an inch, just enough for Simon to see Raphael walking leisurely forward, hands clasped behind his back. He spots Magnus’s shoes next, and the swirl of his cape, far more dynamic than Raphael’s. He has to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep in a bout of hysterical laughter at the thought of a cape-off. 

“Raphael,” Magnus says, in a surprisingly warm voice, heavy with sympathy. “Lovely boy, what have you gotten yourself into now?”

Simon jolts slightly. Magnus had said before, on the Quarter Deck, that he knew Raphael, but Simon doesn’t understand how he could. He hadn’t expected the level of familiarity in his tone, either. 

“You know what I’m here for.” There’s no warmth in Raphael’s voice. “Either hand it over, or we’ll take it from you by force.”

There’s a stutter of blue light above. Magnus laughs softly, his hands held aloft, wrapped in shimmers of light. Behind Raphael, the small vessel leeching to the side of the Pandemonium erupts into nervous muttering. 

“Raphael, please.” Magnus is being far too confident, in Simon's terrified opinion. “You know that’s not going to happen. And as far as I’m aware, there are no ‘its’ on board this ship, unless you’re here because you think we swiped a few beam-bots.”

Raphael makes no move to respond at first, and then he hums, slinking into motion. His feet make heavy, harsh clunks against the floor that vibrate through the engine room. Simon swallows and takes a shuddering breath, inching the slat a little further open so he can watch Raphael walk in a small, slow circle around Magnus, still humming. 

“You know, there was no information to be found about this voyage. You filled everything out properly, but your crew was gathered carefully, over a few weeks, and it’s minimal at best. Nobody here is known, or experienced beyond the odd voyage.”

Magnus keeps quiet, and Simon holds his breath. 

“Alec and Isabelle Lightwood, both known more for their parents than their own achievements. Military, aren’t they? With a dash of the usual underhanded trade that comes along with living on Obliea, although I'm sure the kids know nothing about that." Raphael makes an amused sound. "Clary Fray, responsible for the loss of a chalice that could have saved her entire planet. Reckless to a fault. Maia Roberts has never even left Plade before, never gone farther than the rock-ports in her hometown.”

Simon takes in every word, his breaths shallow. He doesn’t know much about any of his crew, in all honesty. He knows the small things, like who won’t eat peach jam in the morning no matter how much custard you put with it (Clary), and who almost killed themselves rolling down a rocky cavern on a beat-up Port Surfer before they got the hang of it (Maia). He knows that Alec is looking for a way to save his mum, and so is Izzy, but he knows nothing of why the rest of them agreed to come with Magnus. 

“And then there’s Jace Lightwood, as he calls himself.”

Simon tips his chin up, listening carefully. He doesn’t want to analyse why Jace’s name catches his attention more than the others. 

“Formerly of Zostea, isn’t he? The station ruled by Valentine, a station that rages war against the entire Seleucia Solar System, if the rumours are correct. I wonder if there’s any connection.”

Raphael finishes his circle, coming to a stop where he began. Simon can sense the smile on his face, the slick satisfaction at having rattled an entire ship of people - people who he can’t see, but whose distress and tenseness he must be able to sense.

“Did I miss anybody?”

“Just the beam-bots,” Magnus replies smoothly. 

“But it seems suspicious, to me, the direction you were taking with this rag-tag crew,” Raphael says, as though Magnus never spoke. “You stopped at Meostava for crystals, and then again at Satnune for the blessing of travellers. So it must be a long journey, this one.”

“My my, you have been doing your homework. Honestly, Raphael, I leave you alone for a hundred years and you turn into a stalker. What am I going to do with you?”

“Is it dangerous? The voyage you have planned. We couldn’t quite work it out.”

The blue flares brighter around Magnus’s hands, caressing his fingers. “Yes, you could. You worked it out, and then you summoned me through a large portal without my say-so. Forgive me for being so blunt, but I find that incredibly offensive, Raphael, and if you do it again I shall have something stronger than words for you.”

Simon shivers. He’s not heard Magnus sound like that before, quick and cutting and yet still caring.

Raphael remains silent, and then steps back. 

“I didn't authorise the use of the Vessel Portal. I don't have that kind of pull with the Aura Colony.”

“Who does?” Magnus says pleasantly. He begins his own circle then, stepping around a suddenly stiff Raphael. “Who thinks themselves so important that they can dictate where my ship -- Ah.”

“Ah,” Raphael repeats, dry as dust. 

“So it’s that sort of game, is it?” 

Raphael straightens up. Simon can’t see his face, but he doesn’t sound happy. Whatever Magnus has figured out, Simon is pretty sure that _neither_ of them are happy about it. 

“She’s not going to stop until she has what she wants, and what she wants is Simon Lewis dead at her feet.”

Simon sucks in a breath. He can feel the burn under his skin trying to burst forth. His palms glow. He clenches his fists and casts a wide-eyed look around the engine room, but there’s no way out but to go up.

He knows of only one ‘she’ they could be talking about, and he’s not eager to meet her again. 

“Raphael,” Magnus says, serious and quiet. “You understand that I can’t allow that to happen.”

“And you understand that this is a warning, not a request, don't you?” Raphael surges forward suddenly, moving until he’s close enough to touch Magnus, although he doesn’t. Simon has to strain to hear his next words. “She has the Aura Colony on her side. I don't know how, or what she has on them, but they’re under her grasp. They authorised the use of the Vessel Portal. Do you honestly think they haven’t authorised anything else?”

Simon turns his hands over, dizzy, watching the faint purple hue dim slightly. He knows what that means. The Vessel Portal could have ripped the ship apart, killing any or all of them. The Aura Colony governs the Quadrants, and authorises what it sees fit to authorise. If it did that, if it gave permission to almost tear apart a ship and a crew full of mostly-innocent people, then there’s no telling what kind of weapons are aimed at the Pandemonium. 

“You have a choice here, Magnus,” Raphael insists urgently. “You can either give up Simon Lewis, or you can allow the Pandemonium and its entire crew to meet a painful end within the next five minutes.”

“Five minutes is a long time,” Magnus says casually, blue light falling down his body to coalesce at his ankles and trickle through the floor. A signal to the rest of the crew, hidden below-decks, to get up here and help. Simon watches the purple glow in his palms fade to nothing. He knows Magnus. Magnus won't make a choice that will hurt anyone under his charge.

“Make the choice, Magnus.”

“There isn’t a choice here, Raphael,” Magnus snaps. 

Simon opens the hatch. 

*

They tie him up. The rope is frozen, kept cold with magic, and flakes of ice and slush break away as they tie the length tightly around Simon’s wrists. Raphael takes the gag - a soft swathe of silk - out of his pocket, and does the honours himself. 

“Simon,” Magnus says, sounding frustrated and worried in equal parts. “If you had just told me, I could have helped.”

His gaze burns into Simon. Simon would speak, reassure Magnus, explain, but, well. The silk is cold too, itching his mouth. He shrugs as much as he can instead, trying not to focus on the pain in his wrists. Cold blisters are already forming there, under the ropes. He knows he made a mistake. He knows he should have told someone - the Captain of the ship he was on, at the very least.

The rattling and shouting from below-decks is muffled from Magnus’s magic, but Simon still strains to hear it. The hatches are all held shut, the stairway sealed over with a bubble of blue. It looks like it hurts Magnus to do it, but the alternative is a fight that Simon isn’t sure they can win. 

Raphael steps back after Simon is secure - unnecessarily so, in his opinion, considering he gave himself up, has no weapons, and is completely outmatched. 

He tries to tell Raphael that with a raised eyebrow, glancing down at his rigid body. 

“I’m not taking any risks,” Raphael says, reading him correctly. “You escaped once with a broken ankle. Don't think I’ve forgotten all the trouble you caused me.”

Simon’s hot laugh gets stuck in his mouth. He almost trips when the guards behind him drag him to their ship, a much smaller, more practical model than the Pandemonium. They jeer when he lands hard on his side, down in the middle of the deck. There are rows of benches either side for those manning the controls and the boosters, and Simon lands between them, his legs twisted awkwardly, his back shouting in protest. 

He cranes his neck in time to see Raphael stepping away from Magnus, his head bowed in inaudible discussion. The guards mutter amongst themselves until Raphael steps on board, kicking Simon in the legs as he passes to get to the helm. The shields come apart in one smooth motion, cocooning their little vessel in an orange glow. 

The Pandemonium’s shield is silver, and it fades out of view before long. 

*

It feels like days before someone comes for Simon. They leave him in the dungeons beneath the castle, amongst the magically manufactured ice. His ropes are replaced with ice-cold white chains. They burn his skin until he bleeds on the dark stone, and then they grow warm until he heals, and then they bite at him with frosty teeth again. 

Water is pushed through the cell bars every now and again, and he laps at it, lying half on his side, gulping it down quickly before it can freeze. There’s never enough. He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t speak much at all. 

“Look at him, licking it up like a dog,” one of the guards spits, sneering through the bars. “Pathetic. You sure they dragged in the right one?” 

Mostly, the guards don't talk to him. Simon prefers that. 

From what he saw of Brim when Raphael flew the ship - the Dumort - to the castle, his home is a mess of fire and chaos. The streets they soared over were dark and ash swirled in the air. Fire spewed from the cracked ground. 

He knows who’s responsible. He saw her briefly when he was thrown into the Throne room upon his arrival, the same place he vowed never to return to, and she turned his cheek with her foot to see if he was still alive. 

“I asked for him dead at my feet,” Camille Belcourt had said. “He looks far too lively for my liking.”

“I couldn’t get the truth out of Magnus Bane,” Raphael had said stiffly, not looking at Simon. “I don't know where they’re going, or what their plans are. Magnus seems to care for him. He might be of use to you yet.”

Camille had hummed, careless, and gestured for Simon to be taken away. 

Simon still doesn’t know why Raphael lied. He had as good as admitted, back on the Pandemonium, that he knew they were voyaging to the Wishing World. Magnus had known who Camille was. There’s something there that Simon doesn’t understand, and perhaps never will, because it doesn’t look as if he’s going to be getting out of this dungeon at any point in the near future. 

“How long’s it been?” Simon asks, when Raphael steps up to the cell doors. He doesn’t touch the bars, but he does roll a leather bottle of water through them. It hits Simon in the foot, but he ignores it despite the way his throat aches for relief.

“How long has it been, Raphael?”

“Three days,” Raphael says crisply, his eyes glinting in the frosty light. He won’t stay long; most of their kind can’t stand the cold, and Raphael is no exception. Neither is Simon. He feels weak, but he props himself up against the icy wall anyway, awkwardly kicking the bottle closer. If he lies down, he’ll be able to drink it, but with his hands chained behind his back, he can’t open the bottle without using his teeth, and he’s not going to do that in front of Raphael. His dignity - although very small and packed away somewhere he can’t quite see it - is still present. 

“I imagine the Pandemonium will have reached the beginning of the Lunar Quadrant by now. Tell me, how does it feel, knowing you’ve been abandoned? I would have given them a Vessel Portal to get away from you faster, but I’m saving it for something I actually care about.”

Simon tries not to freeze too obviously. It could easily be a taunt, and in some ways it is. In some ways, it’s a reminder that Simon is alone here, in this cell, and that he lied to the people he was supposed to trust. 

But it’s also information, valuable information, and he holds it close to his chest. They’re alive. They weren’t blasted out of the solar system by the Aura Colony. They’re alive, the ship is intact, and _Raphael has a Vessel Portal._

“Cat got your tongue, little bird?” Raphael crouches down to grin cruelly at Simon, but Simon’s more interested in his eyes and the tired, dark circles underneath them. “No matter. Someone very important will be down soon to get you to talk.”

Simon straightens his back as much as he can. Camille. Simon can’t say he’s looking forward to seeing her again, or the creature that sits on her shoulder, but there’s something that Raphael’s not telling him, something important that means he has to pay attention to the occasion. 

“Looking forward to it,” Simon rasps, his voice low. 

Raphael nods once, shortly, and stands. When he leaves, Simon runs through all the information he has, however small, and comes up with a short, desperate list. 

They’re being watched, and listened to. Raphael might not be on Simon’s side, but he’s not on Camille’s side either, not if he’s passing cryptic information through the bars. The crew of the Pandemonium is alive, and Raphael has a way to open a Vessel Portal, and possibly a plan.

He hears footsteps on the stairs, too heavy and thundering to be Camille’s, and braces himself. When the very important person turns out to be an ordinary guard, holding a spiked hammer and jingling suspiciously at the waist, Simon adds him to the list. 

Raphael’s plan involves an unsuspecting guard, and Simon commits his face, his fast steps and the grunt of his voice to memory. He resolves to wait just a little while longer before he tries anything on his own.

“S’fine,” Simon mumbles to himself. “It’s just a bit of cold.”

Simon curls up, dragging his knees close to his chest. There’s a burn in his throat and lungs that makes it hard to breathe, but he can’t cry, not down here. Overall, he doesn’t think it’s too bad yet. There’s a pile of gleaming green gems in the cell across from him that proves the worst is yet to come for Simon. 

“I’ve had worse,” Simon reminds himself, as his ribs twinge, his voice croaky and hoarse. “I’ve had worse and I got out before, with a broken ankle. I can get out again.”

Last time, all of the people that Simon cared about were on his side of the cell. This time, he has friends, friends that are free, friends that could help him escape. But Simon doesn’t think for one second that they would bother to come for him, not after he lied to them for so long about who he was. They must know by now. Magnus definitely knows what he is, what he lied about. 

“I had to do it,” Simon mutters, trying desperately to convince himself. “I had to lie. There was no other way to stay safe.”

There was, though. There could have been. He could have trusted people who had never truthfully done much to hurt him. 

He’s been this cobbled-together version of Simon Lewis for so long that he no longer feels like the boy he used to be. He was thrown in a dungeon before he could take the throne that was rightfully his. When he escaped, he shed his old persona like a cloak and wrapped himself in a safer one, in a lie that hopefully nobody would ever see through.

He made himself smaller, compacted all his personality into one thin body. He threw himself into his work and he created things, because if he could still make good creations, then there was still good left in him. He was still worth something if he could create worthwhile things.

Doors slam upstairs, in the lower part of the castle. He jerks away from the memories of nights alone on the asteroid belt, with Sphynx at his feet and Nero coming to life in his hands, singing his first song. 

Simon hunkers closer to the cold wall, determined not to cry. 

*

“So,” Camille says, gliding towards the bars. Simon jerks out of a misty sleep and swallows when he catches sight of the creature on her shoulder. “You’re the boy who’s caused me so much mischief over the years.”

Camille looks him up and down idly, dragging her eyes over his bruised skin as though she has all the time in the world. Her dress is a deep purple, slinky and tight until it pools at her feet. She reaches up to stroke her pet. 

The Chortler, the red-eyed creature with a ragged, charred plumage, chirps once, twisting its head to the side. Simon shudders. He won’t meet its gaze. That’s the key, he remembers, to not meet its gaze, but it never lasts long. 

“I had you here, in this cell, a long time ago,” Camille says, gesturing at the icy ceiling. The dungeons are more like caves, down under the castle, hollowed out of rock. Stalactites glimmer with ice up above, pointing accusing fingers his way. 

Brim is a planet with an ice-cold centre. The people that live on the surface are what keeps it warm. 

“I know,” Simon croaks out. “I was there.”

Camille stops. She turns, and tuts. “Interrupting your Queen. Not good. It seems as though all the manners I asked my guards to instil in you have taken a little trip.”

“You’re not my Queen,” Simon says, drawing himself up as much as he can. It’s not much, but he thinks Izzy would be proud anyway. 

Camille’s eyes flare gold, briefly. She inhales, long and slow, and lets it out in a thin, saddened sigh. 

“Yes, you definitely need a little reminder.”

*

Simon doesn’t really wake up when Raphael comes to shake him, to smear salve hastily on his wounds and bruises, but he’s not asleep either. He can hear each muttered word, even if he doesn’t quite understand them. Raphael speaks two languages, both of which are fluent, but one which sounds more like home on his tongue. 

“She shouldn’t be on the Throne,” Simon mutters. 

Raphael hushes him sharply. “Are you awake?”

“Not even a bit.”

Raphael sighs. “Don't taunt her. Simon, are you listening? _Don't taunt her.”_

A hand brushes briefly over his cheek, cool and trying desperately to be clinical. Simon leans into it, but it’s gone within seconds. When he opens his eyes a crack, he spots Raphael shutting the cell door, and marching away on the other side. He doesn’t look back, and Simon would feel bitter, but he can already feel the pain fading as the salve sinks into his beaten, bruised skin. 

*

“You’ve been cleaning him up,” Camille says softly. Raphael stands beside her, as relaxed as he’s able to look. His waistcoat is red today, but Camille wears purple again. Simon steadfastly avoids the Chortler’s beady eyes, his heart in his throat. 

“Do you enjoy caring for the boy, Raphael? Have your slippery morals finally oozed their way out of my grasp?”

Simon snorts. “Nice metaphor. Is it a metaphor? I never got that far in my classes, what with the whole being jailed thing and having my family ripped away from me. Very poetic, in any case.”

Camille turns her sharp eyes towards him, and Simon looks away quickly. The Chortler releases a burst of savage song, and everyone, including Camille, flinches. Simon chases after the breaths that escaped him. 

“Inflicting pain for answers is more effective if the victim has begun to forget how bad the pain was,” Raphael says, after a breathless pause. “I listen to your lessons, Camille, that’s all.”

“So by your own words, you’re on my side?” Camille hums, her smile growing sickly wide.

Camille is beautiful, there’s no doubt about it. When he first met her, for the first few minutes, Simon was stunned and awed, even as a child. She had hair like silk and her red dress looked like petals woven together, and she smiled like she had several secrets, all of them his. 

Now, he looks at her and sees the horror of years of mistreatment, and the ruin of his home. There’s nothing beautiful there. But the outside is pretty, still, and deceiving.

“I’m on the side of Brim,” Raphael says carefully, “the planet we are both sworn to protect, and the home of the people who you rule over. That extends to Brim’s ruler's, naturally.”

Simon holds his breath. Camille studies Raphael carefully, and the Chortler hops on its perch of her shoulder. Its claws dig into her skin without mercy, sending rivulets of blood down her dress. 

She winces, holding firm. Raphael doesn’t move, and Simon wonders if he’s about to watch him be shot, or beaten, or carefully removed from sight. Maybe he’s about to get another cellmate. 

“I know why you wear purple,” Simon blurts out. 

The room grows colder. 

“Don't forget that,” Simon adds. “I know why, and one day, everyone on Brim is going to know why you wear purple too.”

“You were right, Raphael,” Camille says coldly, her eyes glittering as she turns to face Simon. “Inflicting pain is much more satisfying if they’ve begun to forget, and by the sounds he’s making, he’s started to forget. Why don't you do the honours this time?”

Raphael stiffens. Camille moves close to him, the Chortler clicking and chirping on her shoulder, and puts her hand in Raphael's waistcoat pocket. She withdraws a dagger and a tin of salve. 

“It seems as though you’ve come prepared,” Camille says. “It would be a shame to waste it.”

She presses both items into Raphael’s hands and sweeps from the room. The Chortler flaps up to hang from one of the stalactites, clinging to the rock with serrated claws. A guttural sound emerges from its throat.

Fifteen minutes later, Simon spits out the chipped tooth that had been giving him trouble. Every part of him feels raw and tender. Raphael hadn’t used the dagger, but his fire still has some sting to it, especially given how cold Simon is, and he’s no stranger to using his fists. 

“Had enough yet?” Raphael asks, lowering his hand. His face is stone-cold. “No? Perhaps this next one will finally make you stop talking, hmm?”

Simon gasps in a breath and slumps when Raphael backhands him across the face. He hits the ground, possibly more theatrically than necessary, but whatever. He’s bleeding, and sore, and there’s a giant bird watching them fight. Simon gets to be dramatic. 

The Chortler trills, finally satisfied. Simon keeps his eyes shut, feigning unconsciousness on the ground, and listens to the sound of wings flapping until it turns distant and fades from earshot. 

A flurry of movement indicates that Raphael’s knelt beside him. 

“Have you finished?” Raphael asks impatiently, shaking him by the shoulder. “You landed on your own tooth, idiot.”

“What happened to talking cryptically and not telling me anything?” Simon mutters, opening his eyes and staring groggily up at Raphael’s looming, pissed-off face. 

“The bird was what I was watching out for,” Raphael says. “It should be on its way back to Camille, which means we have a minute or so. Get up.”

Simon tries, and it’s testament to how much Raphael was holding back that he’s able to sit up without too much pain. 

“So I can ask anything?” Simon says, and gets a livid, warning look in return. Not anything, then. “Because I wanted to know where you got that snazzy waistcoat from. I think Magnus would like it.”

Raphael snorts, manhandling Simon until he’s leaning back against the wall. “This was Bane’s, once upon a time. Stay still while I apply this.”

Raphael pops the tin open and smooths salve onto Simon’s skin. It mixes with dry blood. Simon abruptly realises how long it’s been since he last washed, and wrinkles his nose. 

“Do I stink?”

“Like death,” Raphael says succinctly. “Here, move forward so I can reach your wrists.”

Simon leans forward obediently, eager to feel the blisters from the chains fade. Raphael’s only ever done the wounds on his body put there by fists and weapons, not by the chains. 

The salve feels warm and heavenly on his skin, like drinking steamy, spicy soup on a cold day. Simon breathes harshly through his nose, the tension from his shoulders easing as he slumps against Raphael’s side. Raphael makes a harsh noise, but doesn’t shove him away yet. 

The salve slips all over his wrists, and then down to the manacles binding his hands together. Simon can’t feel it on his skin anymore, but Raphael is still massaging it into something, still moving. It seems to take much longer than the rest of his injuries. 

“There,” Raphael says, sitting back and standing in one smooth motion. He puts the pot of salve back in his waistcoat and collects the dagger that he didn't use. “Perhaps next time you can avoid taunting someone who wants you dead, and we can all go about our days with a little less brutality involved, hmm?”

Simon shrugs. “I feel like being alive is enough of a taunt to someone who wants you dead. I may as well have a bit of fun with it, right?”

Raphael hisses several unknown words as he stalks from the cell. The door locks itself behind him, only to be opened with a key that Simon hasn’t seen yet, or with the permission of Camille, who Simon doesn’t want to see again. There’s no glance back from Raphael as he leaves the dungeons, no doubt frozen to the bone. 

Settling back against the wall, Simon pokes at the sore hole where his tooth was. He can’t see it on the floor, and he’s not exactly about to hunt for it. His mouth tastes of metal, and no amount of salve can take away the pain in his jaw and cheek, but it’s hard not to prod. 

The thing with the salve was weird. Simon doesn’t think he was imagining it, the way Raphael took his time on his wrists. 

He’s proven right, a few minutes later, when the manacles around his wrists creak audibly when he shifts them. Almost as though they’re coming apart at the seams. 

*

Raphael’s plan becomes very, very clear on the eighth day. It’s longer than Simon expected to last. He has one busted finger, a missing back tooth, and his eye is puffy and hard to see out of. Most of his bruises are gone, thanks to Raphael’s salve the previous day, but he still aches.

The chains still connect him to the wall, but Simon has been keeping his hands behind his back of his own volition for a few hours now. If he tugs just right, he has a feeling that the manacles will snap cleanly in two, but he’s waiting for the right moment. 

Footsteps fill the air. Simon swallows a mouthful of stale bread, burnt at the edges, and rolls upright, squinting at the guard that looms into view. It’s the guard Raphael pointed out before, the one with the jingling belt. 

He’s moving much more sluggishly than usual. His feet drag on the floor, and he frowns beneath his helmet, his face gaunt and haggard.

Simon’s heart picks up the pace a little. 

“Hey,” he says, for the first time in a while. It’s hard to get the word out, and it’s rougher and quieter than he’d like, but when he shouts again, it gets the guards’ attention. “Hey!”

The guard peers at him murkily. Simon’s chains are long enough that he can move around the cell if he wants to. They’re attached to the wall, but there’s some length there. He just doesn’t want to break them yet. 

He gets to his knees and starts to shuffle towards the bars. 

“What are you doing?” the guard slurs. 

“Oh, just escaping,” Simon says airily. His chest hurts with each word, and his knees sting as he scrapes them against the frozen ground. “But you’re kinda in the way, buddy. You mind looking over there for a bit while I open the door?”

The guard lumbers forward, his spiked hammer trembling in his fist. His boot strikes the ice seeping out of Simon’s cell. There’s a moment where he should catch himself, like all the other guards could have done, and yet the sluggish, groggy wave compressing him suppresses his usual instincts. 

The guard slips. Simon surges upright and yanks his hands away from each other. The manacles snap in the centre. The chains crumble away from his wrists, links dissolving. Simon throws his arms desperately through the bars and grabs the falling guard by his shirt, dragging him forward before he can crash into the cell door. The guard struggles briefly, opening his mouth to yell, and then the last of the wave takes him under. 

The guard slumps. Simon goes down with him, easing him to the floor silently. With shaking fingers, he drags the guard across the icy ground until he’s pressed against the bars and digs around for the pouch hanging from his belt. 

It jingles as he works open the laces clumsily. A ring of three keys falls into his palm. 

*

Simon bundles the guard into the corner of the dungeons, wedging him beneath a large barrel of ale. He thinks its ale, anyway. He’s seen a few guards clanking their goblets against the tap in the evenings when there’s more of them on duty. 

“Okay, think, think, think,” Simon says, rapping his fist against his own head. It doesn’t help much. “I’m out of my cell. The guard is down, Raphael probably drugged him because Raphael is terrifying, and I need to get out. Shit. Okay.”

It’s never a good sign, when his internal monologue becomes external. He turns on his heel and scans the dungeon. There are empty cells further down that lead to a dead end, a hunk of white, icy wall, or the stairs that lead up into the castle. 

“Alright,” Simon says, taking a step closer to the stairs with resigned dread. “I guess we’re doing this then.”

He makes himself stop talking with a pinch to his wrist. He’s so used to talking aloud, to Nero and Sphynx, that he forgets to rein it in when they aren’t here. Talking out loud isn’t going to help him sneak through a castle crawling with guards, though. This would have been so much easier if Raphael had told him what to do next.

“Stealth Mode activate,” he says, laughing nervously at his own stupidity. He pats the keys he took from the guard, tucked in his pocket, and then backtracks to pick up the short, blunt sword at the guard's waist. The hammer is too conspicuous, but the sword is standard issue, small enough to hide behind his back. He’d change into the guard’s clothes, but there’s no time. 

And then there’s nowhere to go but up. 

The castle billows with a welcome breath of hot, fiery air. Simon wobbles for a moment, at the top of the stairs to the dungeon, where the same key for the main cell door comes in handy. Nobody’s guarding it, which either has something to do with Raphael or speaks volumes about the arrogance of the people under Camille’s command. 

His best bet is to get out of the castle and into the depths of Brim, but failing that, he needs to find Raphael. 

Simon slips out of the shadows of the dungeon steps and moves quickly down the corridor. There’s still no sight of anyone, and he takes off at a run when he hears a noise far behind him, like the grind of a door opening. He skids around a corner and catches sight of two guards further down, their heads bent as they march down the hall, discussing something. 

He swears, diving sideways up a narrow set of steps. He doesn’t want to go up, he wants to get _out,_ but he doesn’t particularly fancy stabbing anybody, and he’s not sure he could take on two guards with just one tiny sword and a lot of bruises. 

Above him, on the steps, a woman gasps. 

Simon whips around. She’s small, wearing a plain white uniform, her dark hair tied tightly into braids. She looks about Simon’s age, too young to be working. Simon feels bile rise in his throat, disgusted, but then he catches sight of the gold pin on her sleeve and sucks in a breath. 

He hastily puts his finger to his lips. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispers frantically. “I won’t even come near you. Are these the worker steps?”

That’s what he called them when he lived here. The worker steps, where people who didn't technically live in the castle could roam freely without being yelled at by stuffy, visiting embassies. The yellow pin, a single feather, identifies her as a regular visitor, and the fact that she’s up here means her family is working for Camille. The uniform is unfamiliar, but Simon knows that trades spring up all the time: she must be learning something new, studying under her family, or whoever she's here with.

The woman - the girl - nods carefully, her eyes still wide with fright. She takes in the blood and the black eye and the ragged clothes. He must stink, and he must look terrifying. He tries to make himself smaller, hunching down and holding up one hand, keeping his sword in full view. 

“I’m just trying to get off the planet,” Simon whispers, listening to the guards draw closer, with their usual one-two rhythm of marching feet. “I promise, I haven’t hurt anybody, I won’t hurt you, and I just want to get out of here, okay? I want to leave Brim. Can you tell me, do these steps lead round to the main doors?”

She keeps watching him, silent and afraid. 

“Look, I--” Simon cuts himself off, desperate. He holds his hand out, watching it shake. It’s a risk, he knows it is, to reveal himself, but it’s this or risk her screaming as soon as the guards draw near enough. There’s a chance that she’s not on Camille’s side either. 

He digs deep for the heat that he usually pushes away. 

Purple fire flickers to life in the palm of his hand. He lets it crackle for a moment, and then another, and then vanquishes it. It hurts, to make it go away after finally letting it free.

The girl catches her breath. In one movement, she flattens herself against the side of the stairway and jerks her head up to the top. 

“Go,” she whispers. “There’s a room in the servant’s quarters with a hatch that leads down to the main floor. My family designed it, they’re architects. You should fit inside it.”

“Thank you,” he says, and means it. He scrambles past her, away from the guards, watching their shadows fill the entrance to the stairs as they march past. He swallows his fear and stumbles towards the top of the stairway, before pausing. 

“Hey,” he says, glancing back down at the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Maureen,” she says, her spine straight, her eyes full of fire and relief. “Welcome back.”

*

The servant’s quarters are small and compact, with only sparse furnishings inside. Simon bypasses a large rolling hamper full of uniforms - some which look far too risque to be appropriate, and which he briefly entertains the idea of dressing in, just to disguise himself - and ducks through winding corridor after corridor, moving from room to room. It's like a maze. He scares three girls and a guy who drops a duster, and keeps sprinting. There are no visible hatches on the walls, nothing to indicate that there’s a way down into the main part of the castle. 

“Shit,” Simon says, as he sprints towards the last door, leaping over a small ottoman. “Shit, please be behind here.”

There are no hatches behind the door.

A guard is, though. Simon jerks to a stop as the guard turns, and it only takes a moment of wide-eyed confusion before they both snap into action. He ducks and rolls just as the guard takes a swing and backs down what appears to be a perfectly normal corridor at the end of the servant’s quarters, trying to put some space between the two of them. 

Simon swears, swinging his sword up to block the next attack. The edge bites into the guard’s wrist, exposed from the stretch of his punch, and he screams, staggering backwards. Blood sprays the floor. Simon stands up straight, edging backwards. The guard reaches for his belt and uncoils a whip with his other hand. 

It’s dark, leather-made, and nowhere near as menacing as Izzy’s, but it still makes Simon wince. 

“Hey, we could just talk about this,” Simon suggests weakly, lifting his sword.

The guard cracks his whip, storming closer. Simon doesn’t flinch, bracing himself, both hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of his blade. He never, in a million years, suspected that he would make it out again if he got thrown back into the dungeons, if they found him, but now that he’s part of the way out, he has to keep trying. He can’t just stand here and wait for them to use him as a punching bag. 

He raises the sword and takes a step forward. 

A fist collides with the guard’s snarling face, splitting the skin of his cheek. There’s a howl of pain, and then a foot joins the fray, and a blur of a figure is kicking, punching, hitting with everything it’s got, until the guard is on the floor, barely breathing. The guy who put him there stands over him and breathes hard, panting, metal shining on its knuckles.

Simon inhales sharply when the guy looks up, mismatched eyes glinting in the lamplight, because it’s Jace. Jace has come to get him.

“You know,” Simon says faintly, “I don't think I’ve ever been happier to see you. I actually considered putting on one of those maid’s uniforms and sneaking out that way, so I’m, like, incredibly glad you’re here.”

Jace jerks, visibly taken aback. There’s a scowl appearing on his face as he takes Simon in. 

“You haven’t seen Raphael Santiago, have you?” Simon adds. “He’s about yey-big, wears a really disappointed expression, likes to lurk? I've been trying to yell at him, but he's slippery.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jace snaps, breaking out of his spell and stalking towards him. Simon surprises himself by meeting Jace halfway, yanking him into a hug that stops them both short. 

Simon laughs shakily into Jace’s shoulder. “I wasn't joking when I said I’m really glad to see you.”

“You were supposed to be in the dungeon,” Jace says, sounding hollow and afraid. He wraps his arms tightly around Simon and holds him tightly, crushing them together. He’s warm, sweat on his neck and blood on his fists, and he smells like the ash floating in the air outside. Simon can practically taste his relief. He draws away when a sound travels down the corridor, pulling Jace into the room he just vacated.

Jace stumbles in, and Simon grins at him as the door snaps shut. It’s empty, just a little lamplight filtering in from the other room, which looks empty too. He must have scared everyone else away for good, running through like a maniac. Jace stands there and stares, apparently unable to look away.

“You wanted me to be in the dungeon?” Simon asks, breaking the silence. 

“No, but that’s where Santiago said you’d be, idiot."

“You sound just like him.”

Jace huffs out a breath, reaching out to pull Simon’s face this way and that, running his eyes critically over his skin. His hands feel rough and warm. Simon holds up his free hand and wiggles it, the sword drooping from his other fist. 

“I’m fine,” Simon says. “I mean, I’ll be even finer when you tell me that there’s a whole rescue party waiting for me downstairs and Raphael’s got the Vessel Portal ready to go.”

“Idiot,” Jace repeats, and then he kisses Simon. 

Simon freezes. His surprised yelp gets muffled against Jace’s mouth. 

Of all the things he was expecting, this is somewhere at the bottom of the list. 

Jace makes a little helpless noise, and fists his hands in Simon’s grimy shirt, holding on, pulling him closer, kissing him harder. Simon’s not had many kisses before, and he’s not really doing much, but it’s still dizzying. It turns slow, soft, quite quickly, but no less intense, and Simon finds himself - impossibly, miraculously, wonderfully - kissing back. 

Jace draws back, breathing unsteadily, and rests his forehead against Simon’s, eyes clamped shut. “Sorry. Sorry, I know that probably wasn’t what you were expecting.”

Simon stares at him, wide-eyed. His mouth feels red and almost tingly. “Uh, no kidding.”

Jace laughs, not exactly a happy sound, and steps back, opening his eyes to reveal a wild look lingering there. “We should go. This isn’t exactly the best time to do - anything except escaping.”

Simon agrees, but his mouth doesn’t seem to get the message. But this time, instead of kissing Jace back, or kissing him first - which, _what_ \- he blurts out, “You actually came to get me.”

“I did,” Jace agrees, fixing Simon with an indecipherable look. 

“I wasn’t sure that you would,” Simon says, knowing that he’s babbling and wasting time and yet not quite able to shut up. “I know I lied to you. And I know I probably messed everything up, and that none of you will ever want to talk to me again, and that’s fine, I don’t blame you, because I was an ass. So, I wasn’t sure that you’d actually come for me.”

Jace sighs, but Simon cuts off any protests. 

“I mean, not that I was relying on you or anything. I was fine by myself. But still.” His voice takes on a little bit of wonder, and he reaches out with his free hand to tilt Jace’s chin up, eyes dazed. “You came for me.”

Oh, now that he’s thinking about it, it’s possible the kiss thing would be a lot more mutual, if Simon was prepared for it this time. Ah. That’s a thing he’s going to have to think about soon. 

Jace’s voice cracks. “Simon, you idiot. We talked about this. Yeah, I came for you. Now, you need to stop being stupid so we can get out of here. We have to get you _out_ of here.”

They don't waste any time. Jace leads him back into the corridor, and then down another set of stairs that Simon didn't spot before, and across a vast room filled with paintings. It takes all he has not to stop and look at his own history. They pass more unconscious guards as they sprint through the castle, Jace leading the way, until they finally reach the ground floor and skid into the entry hall. A square of light greets them through the main doors, thrown open to reveal Brim.

Simon squints at it. “I feel like I shouldn’t be going towards the big, shiny light at the end of the tunnel.”

“You’re not dying,” Jace snaps, and starts hauling him forward.

“It definitely feels like I’m dying,” Simon babbles, because that’s better than thinking about being tortured and rescued and kissed. “I mean, I’ve been beaten worse than this, but that was years ago, and I’d kind of forgotten how it felt to have a tooth knocked loose. I can’t say I’ve missed the feeling.”

Jace growls under his breath and shoves Simon remarkably gently towards the steps, given the circumstances. He would protest, but then Clary is there, windswept and regal, wielding a large spear and glaring at them both. She gets her hands on Simon’s shoulders and pulls him into a hug that steals the air from his lungs. 

He feels tears prick his eyes, and shoves them back, vaguely shocked. He doesn't cry. He _can't_ cry.

“What took you so long?” Clary demands, pulling back. 

“I didn't know about the rescue plan," Simon says, "so I went off on my own, and then Jace had to get his hands all over my body when he caught me about to put on a maid’s costume.”

“Concussion,” James lies, deadpan, when Clary glances over Simon’s shoulder in disbelief. “Or just shock. Come on, we need to get him on board.”

Clary rolls her eyes, dragging Simon out of the castle. “No, really? I thought I’d leave him here with a little note for Belcourt.”

The light of Brim hits his eyes, and Simon gulps in air at the scene awaiting him. He can feel tears falling, hitting his skin, which is impossible, really. He doesn't cry. But here he is, crying, and the tears try to soak through him, but they won’t heal him. They can't heal personal wounds, just those of others. 

They fall as rubies and diamonds and clusters of gold, instead, landing at his feet with small shattering sounds. 

The Pandemonium hovers in the air above the courtyard. Smoke rises in the distance, and there’s still ash in the air, but the Pandemonium shines with silver light. The drum of the engines in familiar and soft, burrowing deep into his soul. 

He keeps crying. Clary purses her lips at the diamond that hits her boot. Jace doesn't say anything. 

“Go,” Clary says, shoving Simon towards the rope ladder hanging from the ship’s side. “We’ll take care of _that.”_

Simon glances behind him to catch a flash of red plumage at Clary's disgusted declaration, and he stops dead. Jace doesn’t let him stop for long. He grabs Simon and runs, dragging him towards the ladder and urging him up. His hands fumble on the ropes. Strong, gentle hands greet him at the top of a shaky climb, helping him onto the deck.

Maia looks pissed, a large gash on her cheek that’s steadily dripping blood, her spatha held out in front of her. She curls her fingers under Simon’s arms and hauls him up to kiss his bruised cheek.

Simon gives her a dazed grin. “I knew you missed me.”

“When we get off this planet, we’re going to spar, and I’m going to hand you your ass for lying to us,” Maia warns him, and then she flings one of his arms over her shoulders and gestures to Jace to do the same. He does so without complaint, fishing a dagger out of his pocket and holding it out in front of him even though they're on safe ground. 

“I can walk, guys,” Simon complains, as he stumbles forward on weak knees. And then he promptly passes out in a pool of emeralds. 

*

Simon sighs, struggling to sit up, and fixes Jace with a dismal look. Jace takes the look in his stride, just like he’s taken Simon’s complaints, half-hearted protests, and false reassurances in his stride. It hasn’t gotten Simon anywhere. He’s still forcibly detained in Jace’s room, surrounded by brass instruments, maps, and blankets. 

A lot of blankets. An unhealthy amount of blankets, one could argue, if one were feeling bold. 

“You need to rest,” Jace says, glaring at him over the round table, where he’s pinning down a new map. “You were gone for over a week, and you got beaten up pretty badly.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Simon mutters. He rolls his eyes when Jace just sharpens his glare, wincing when even eye-rolling seems to cause him pain, but eventually props himself up against the pillows so he’s looking straight at Jace. He pats the side of the cot, and Jace sighs.

“I’m not going to ravish you on your own bed,” Simon complains, exasperated, before he adds, “It didn't seem like you’d have much of a problem with that anyway. Hey!”

He yelps when some kind of spindly tool gets thrown at him, but it bounces harmlessly off his wall of blankets and falls to the floor. He probably deserved that, but still. 

“Will you just come here so I can talk to you?” Simon snaps. 

Jace surveys him for a moment before giving in, stalking round the table. He hovers, apparently unsure, while Simon watches on in disbelief (because how can someone this self-assured be this awkward?) before lowering himself gingerly on the edge of the cot, fiddling with the blanket that’s wrapped around Simon’s legs.

“I’m limiting topics to the weather, my maps, and whether or not Izzy’s going to kill Alec before noon for sighing about Magnus's biceps.”

“I’m ignoring those limits,” Simon says, shrugging. “What happened? I’ve been awake for an hour and you haven’t told me anything, nobody’s come down except Magnus, and he looked like… I’m not going to say ‘shit’ because he’ll hear me and I don't want to die covered in feathers and sequins, thanks.”

“Oh, no, but dying in a corridor when you should’ve been in a dungeon is fine,” Jace mutters. 

“So many things wrong with that sentence.” Simon claps his hands. “Right! Start talking, or I’ll start asking _other_ questions.”

He’s not using the kiss as a threat, exactly, because he plans to do a lot of talking about it later, when he’s had time to think about it more. But he literally woke up an hour ago, roughly, lying on Jace’s bed in the Pandemonium, with Magnus leaning over him, shrouded in blue. The door had sealed shut behind Magnus on the way out, and Simon hasn’t gotten anything useful out of Jace since. 

Jace eyes him, tapping his fingers against the blanket near Simon’s thigh. It’s distracting. 

“Fine,” Jace says warily, “but nobody’s going to like it. They wanted to do a big joint thing where we all gathered together to yell at you. What do you want to know?”

“Where the hell are we?” Simon asks, gesturing at the window, which is the same shade of blue as Magnus’s magic, and remarkably opaque for a window. Funny, that. 

“At the Aura Colony Headquarters, Station Fourteen, just outside the Luna Quadrant. Raphael used a Vessel Portal code to get the ship here, and is currently with Magnus, trying to get the Aura Colony to stop being useless.”

Simon wraps one fist in the blanket over his lap and stares at Jace. “The same Aura Colony that was going to blow up the Pandemonium if Magnus didn't gift-wrap me and hand me over?”

Jace quirks a smile. “The very same. Only we’re not sure about any of it. Magnus won’t say much yet, and he’s been busy, but he mentioned something about Camille being good at blackmail. So he’s either trying to help, or tearing them a new one.”

Simon sits back against the cushion, confused and a bit wary of asking any other questions. 

“Where’s everyone? Sphynx and Nero?”

“Lugnut and rustbucket have not stopped pissing me off since you gift-wrapped yourself and vanished.” Jace’s tone is pleasant, light, but Simon can see the storm in his eyes. “They’re with Izzy at the moment, working on repairs to the sail. They wanted to help. The little one wouldn’t shut up until we let him.”

“He likes to sing,” Simon says, breathing a little easier now that he knows his robots are alright. “He was probably telling you everything that’s wrong with the ship right now.”

“Yeah,” Jace agrees. “Simon, you can sleep a bit more. Magnus locked the door while he deals with whether or not we’re being let go peacefully, but either way he’s not letting anyone on this ship get hurt. I don't think we’ll be staying long, but you may as well sleep.”

“I don't know anything that happened,” Simon snaps. “I don't know what happened with Camille and why I didn't see her while I was escaping, or what happened with Clary and the Chortler. I don't know if the rest of Brim’s gone up in flames or what was going on with Raphael, and I don't--”

_I don't know why you kissed me._

“Clary’s fine," Jace says, when Simon doesn't continue, "and Magnus and Raphael are dealing with Camille and that bird thing. Maia’s fixing the beam-bots, Alec’s dealing with docking paperwork, and I already told you about Iz and your robots. Magnus and Raphael will tell you the rest of it when they get here, okay?”

Jace’s voice isn’t soothing exactly, but it’s nice and steady, and the stark, blunt words help to reassure the fizzing, worried part of Simon that won’t shut up. 

“Okay,” Simon says. “Okay.”

Jace catches his hand and holds it, squeezing, and Simon realises he was hurting his fingers, squeezing the blanket so tightly. 

“Try and sleep,” Jace says. Simon shakes his head immediately. 

“Believe me, I want nothing more than to sink into a dark abyss, but first I have to tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” He grins, and Jace stares at his mouth for a good long second. It’s noticeable, now that they’ve actually kissed, how much _looking_ they both do.

Simon’s grin falters slightly. He’s not sure what to do about that still. 

“I’m not going to say no to answers,” Jace says, settling back against the opposite wall and slinging one leg up onto the bed. He crooks it at the knee and rests one arm on it, but his other hand stays clasped around Simon’s. 

Simon takes a deep breath, and launches into his tale. 

“Brim never used to be like that,” Simon begins. “I know you might not have seen much of it, in between beating people up, but even though it was never rich or pretty, it wasn’t a war-zone. You used to be able to walk the streets safely, and people were kind to each other. There were fire festivals, and we wove tapestries, and there are people of all kinds, all religions, all histories. The planet also has its own, rich history.”

Simon glances up to check that Jace is still listening, and finds him watching intently. 

“It was where the first Phoenix flew, after the Great War split the galaxies into separate Quadrants. The Phoenix was a symbol of hope and rebirth, and the General on the good side of the war carried a golden Phoenix on a pike, which he took with him into battle. When the Great War was won, and the galaxies were separated, forming the Quadrants that made up the Seleucia Solar System, the Phoenix disappeared.”

“I know that story,” Jace says, eyes hooded. “It’s in all the old tales.”

“Yeah, but it usually stops there. Truthfully though, the Phoenix changed from metal to flesh and flew to a nearby burning star, colliding with it, and created a planet made entirely of ash.”

“Brim,” Jace says. “Your home.”

“Brim,” Simon agrees with a touch of bitterness, “but it wasn’t my home. Not for very long. I grew up there, but a place can’t be a home if you don’t feel safe inside it. I was born in the castle. Mum was the Queen, and my sister, Rebecca, was the Crown Princess. We were all… we were all Phoenix’s.”

Jace sits up slowly, moving away from the wall. Simon doesn’t want to stop and explain what he is, and he’ll probably have to do it again for everyone else anyway, so he moves straight past it into the painful part. The part he doesn’t let himself think about.

“Camille Belcourt came not long after my dad died. Phoenix's are sought after for healing properties, and some are - used. In horrible ways. So Brim shut itself off from most of the Solar System, thanks to my dad’s decree. Camille got tired it. She wanted us to fight back. She was an older Phoenix, but not one of the royals, so she had no tie to the throne, and she couldn’t make those sorts of decisions.”

“I take it she decided to do something about it, after your dad passed away,” Jace says slowly. 

“She killed mum to take the throne,” Simon says, in clipped tones. “There was a fight, and a wave of royal fire. It’s purple and blinding and only the royals can use it, and I couldn’t see anything. I thought when it ended that my mum would be there, and Camille would be ash. But it was the other way around.”

Jace shuffles forward on the bed, his hold on Simon’s hand tightening. Simon doesn't look at him, staring down at the blanket instead. He hasn’t talked about this, ever, with anyone that he didn't make with his own two hands. 

“Rebecca and I got thrown in the cells. We didn't see what they did to… to mum’s ashes, but I doubt it was the Rites that let us survive." At Jace's questioning glance, Simon explains. "Phoenix’s are reborn, see. They come back as they were when they left, but only if the Rites are told over the ashes. And nobody did that. So, she’s gone.”

The words ring hollow around the room. 

“Rebecca and I… we were in separate cells, and one day, someone came in to take Rebecca away. I… I don’t know what happened to her. She never came back.”

Simon knows exactly what happened to her, and he doesn't know why it didn't happen to him too. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, speaking to the room at large now. It’s like he has to get his story out, regardless of whether anybody's listening or not. But Jace is listening. Jace, who leans forward and puts a hand gently on Simon’s shoulder, squeezing through the thin fabric of his shirt, pushing warmth into his skin - Jace is listening. 

“I grew up in that cell for years,” Simon continues. “I was about thirteen when I escaped. I remember Raphael, but only later on. He was just an ordinary Phoenix, but he rose in ranks quickly and I started to see him more often. I was given what I needed to keep me alive, but I wasn’t allowed to leave. Some of the guards were fond of me, and some of them hated me enough to break my bones whenever they got bored. Eventually, I built a machine to pick the lock with scraps of material some of the guards bought me. I even gave the machine a blowtorch, later on.”

Jace furrows his brow. “Sphynx? That thing can pick locks?”

Simon smirks, tired and proud. “He can do a lot more than that. They both can.”

“What happened then?” Jace asks, more gently than Simon would have thought him capable of, a few days ago. 

Simon shrugs. “I think the guards felt sorry for me, because I got out easily enough. Security was pretty lax after the first few years of being in the cell, and I only had to fight a few people in the castle, but mostly I just ran away, as best as I could with a broken ankle. I was still in pretty bad shape when I reached the end of Brim, where I stole a ship at the edge of the dock and flew to the asteroid belt.”

He thinks that's the end of it, but Jace cocks his head. 

“Tell me about it,” Jace says, surprising him. “I didn't listen before, when you talked about the asteroid belt. But I will now.”

Simon finds himself sitting up properly, pulling the blanket around himself one-handed without dislodging any of Jace's touches. “It’s where all the junk in deep space gets sucked in and builds up, creating a giant scrapheap right on the edge of the Inferno Quadrant, almost inside the Lunar Quadrant.There are little shops and workshops and forges on some of the bigger, more stable asteroids. Mostly it’s a place for fugitives and homeless people to lay low, and suddenly I was both of those things, so it seemed like a great place to hide. I lived there for years, building things, working, training.”

“Nobody looked for you?” Jace’s eyes skate over him. “You never got caught?”

“They did, but everyone’s got something to hide on the asteroid belt. People hid me well.” Simon shrugs. “When I got wind that guards had started looking for me again, I sent in a profile to Magnus and stole a one-person ship. I was hoping there’d be something at the end of this journey to help me get Brim back.”

“Like what?”

Simon sighs. “They say that when the first Phoenix was born and flew away from the end of the battle, it left behind the pike it had been standing on. The pike itself was lost aeons ago, but it was a symbol of hope in a time of war. I was hoping it might be there, that it might be a symbol again. Or, that’s what I was telling myself anyway. This is the closest to a plan as I have.”

They sit for a while in silence while Jace digests this.

“You know, I’ve been watching you since you got on this ship, and I knew that the reason you were running wasn’t because of your past. It was because of your future.”

Simon flinches. For a second, his hands glow purple with fire. Jace turns one over and holds it regardless of the heat pouring off his skin. 

“My father’s name is Valentine,” Jace says slowly, out of nowhere. Simon inhales sharply, the glow fading, and he stares at Jace, speechless. “He has armies at his disposal. He rules over Zostea, the Military station, but he wants to rule everywhere. His old right-hand man helped me to leave, and brought me to the Lightwood’s, but Valentine found out eventually, and I had to go back to him to keep my family safe.”

“Jace, you don't have to tell me this,” Simon says, stunned. 

Jace nods shortly. “I know, but I want to. Look, I’m a good fighter, but I know I can’t do this on my own. They say this planet that we’re sailing to can grant any wish, if you look in the right place. I’m looking for something to stop him.”

Simon waits, sensing more. 

“But I don't know what that is, or what I really want to wish for,” Jace continues. “I won’t know until we get there. So I’m telling you this because even if you don't end up finding that pike, even if you end up wishing for something that part of you wants to call selfish, just know that you won’t be alone.”

Simon sinks back against the wall. He threads their fingers together more securely and stares at the blank window rather than Jace, his head full of his family, his old family, and prays that he can make the right choice. 

“Thanks,” he says hoarsely. He feels purple fire all over his skin, glowing faintly, softly. It illuminates the dark room, mingles with the blue magic, and some of it shimmers over Jace’s fingers, licking at his skin with heat. 

Simon reels it back in with difficulty, but he lets the glow stay as they wait for Magnus to unlock the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elaine and Rebecca Lewis are the two past deaths mentioned in this. I would like to say, though, that things are not always as they appear, and Simon only knows what he knows. The violence is because Simon has been captured and put in a dungeon/cell, and is being hurt by the people holding him captured, so there's a mention of bruises, injuries and blood. Again, not too graphic though. 
> 
> Thanks so much! Please let me know what you thought - bare in mind though, that I fully intend to update, so you don't need to say so in the comments. I do love hearing from you, more than anything, but those comments asking for updates make me a bit anxious! Thanks lovely humans! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much! I really, really hope you liked that, please leave a comment/kudos if you did, I'd love to hear from you. 
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Cococranberries) and [Tumblr](http://thealmostrhetoricalquestion.tumblr.com/) :)


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